Rollercoaster
by Mistress Scribbles
Summary: Fate conspired differently. Death passed Tasha by. Given the time to evolve, a relationship she'd dismissed as a one night stand became the most complicated love affair she'd know. Series of stories spanning the show & movies. D&Y, lots of sexual tension.
1. Chapter 1

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

_Any relationship, between any two people, will have its highs and its lows, its peaks and its troughs. This is the story of one particular relationship that certainly wasn't lacking in such fluctuation. But where to begin?_

_Start at the bottom, they say, so why not begin with that deepest trough, that very lowest point? At least if we do start at the bottom, the only direction we can take is up._

-x-

Destruction

-x-

Tasha entered the shuttle bay just in time to see a large, dark hunk of tubed metal smash against the far wall. She took a brief moment to check that there weren't actually any shuttles - or, worse still, personnel - in the hangar. As she suspected, there was nothing beneath the gantry save for an untidy mound of broken alien technology lying where it had fallen by the far wall. Of course, the sole other occupant of the bay would never be so irresponsible. Although, it would be an understatement to say that that other occupant was not himself lately. She continued to observe the messy pile as the other person, ignoring her, picked up another armful of twisted metal and hurled it across the bay.

'Ah,' she said, eventually. 'The long lost, noble art of smashing things up. Have you been taking advice from Worf, by any chance?'

Her counterpart didn't so much as acknowledge her. His only response was to throw another armful of strange machinery.

'You do have permission to do that, don't you?' She added.

There was still no reply, although his Look told her that of course he had permission, and that there had been no point in her asking such a ridiculous question, and that she should probably leave.

Tasha continued to watch the slowly growing pile. 'Am I to take it from your stoicism that you've finally switched your emotions back on?'

Still nothing.

'Good,' she added. 'Good, it's all progress.' She paused. 'And to be honest, when you're running without emotions it gets very confusing for me. I can't cope with you being civil to me for too long these days, I've gotten too used to living without it.'

The android stopped, and looked at her. 'I am perfectly civil to you,' he told her. 'Good morning, Commander Yar,' he continued, with a tone of crude, basic sarcasm. 'Why are you here? Are you not needed elsewhere?' He paused. 'Perfectly civil.'

'Wow,' Tasha replied, dryly, 'you're right. It's just seamless the way you go from indifference to just plain old hating my guts again.'

'Your "guts" are irrelevant. I do not hate you.' Data threw another piece of foreign technology against the far wall. 'And I have certainly never been indifferent towards you. We have already spoken about that at great length. I believe that there is now nothing more to say.'

They didn't speak for another minute or so, as Data continued to hurl various lifeless systems and circuit boards against the far wall of the shuttle bay.

'You know,' added Tasha, conversationally, 'you could just turn your phaser on that lot and be rid of it in a matter of seconds.'

'I want,' Data told her, over-emphasising every word, 'to throw it. It has taken me seven days to reactivate my emotion chip, and now that I finally have, I have the desire to throw things. Is that all right with you, Commander?'

Tasha shrugged. 'You want to break stuff? Fine. Nobody's gonna deny you deserve that privilege.'

There was another long pause.

'After all that you went through,' Tasha added.

Another pause.

'Which you refuse to talk about,' continued Tasha.

Another pause.

'I mean for goodness' sake,' persisted Tasha, 'you were tortured. If that's not Smashing Things material, I don't know what is.'

'If you are attempting to be particularly irksome in the hope of taking my mind off last week's events, then I must tell you now that it will be unsuccessful.' Data threw one more piece of circuitry and then turned to her, his fists bunched at his sides – a defensive gesture that Tasha had grown very used to over the past year. 'I am quite capable of dwelling over more than one unfortunate incident at a time, as I am sure you are aware.'

Tasha leaned against the gantry, folding her arms. 'I'm not trying to exceed my usual levels of irk,' she told him. 'And I'm not trying to take your mind off what happened. The opposite, in fact – I thought that you might want to talk about it.'

'Why should I want that?'

'Might make you feel better.'

'Throwing the remnants of their occupation of the ship against a wall is therapy enough, thank you.'

'Please stop trying to lie to me, Data. You're terrible at it.'

Data frowned at her and then attempted a different tack. 'You are not a Counsellor.'

'Don't I know it. If you were actually going to any Counselling sessions over this I probably wouldn't feel the need to be here.'

Data retained his frown. 'Has Troi sent you to speak with me?'

Tasha laughed a little. 'Deanna wouldn't suggest anything as stupid as that.' She paused. 'I know why you don't want to talk to her about it. Or Geordi, or Will… I know that sometimes, things happen that you don't want your friends to know about. You don't want them to be upset by the things that you went through, and you don't want to risk them thinking any less of you…'

'Is that why you are here?' Data asked, 'because you cannot think any less of me?'

'Hey,' Tasha snapped. 'That's not fair. When did I ever give you the impression that…' she cut herself off, taking a controlled breath and ordering herself internally not to rise to the bait. 'I came here,' she continued, with an exaggerated calm, 'because I thought you might want to talk to somebody who you can't really shock, somebody who's been dragged off by gangs into locked up hidey-holes enough times herself to know what sort of thing goes on after… somebody who you can't surprise, because she already knows exactly what happened to you.'

'You were in an escape pod,' Data replied, curtly. 'You were not there. You do not know…'

'They had a leader,' Tasha interrupted, 'a single, autonomous female, who up until your capture had remained hidden from all of us. Her assumption must have been that there was no point in her remaining elusive to you, since from that point on, you were never going to leave the collective. And you knew that was her conviction. It was her who took the skin off your face and arm, and replaced it with that of a human…'

'You have read the Captain's and my own reports,' interjected Data, flatly. 'As must every senior Starfleet Officer by now…'

'You didn't put in your report that you had sex with her.'

That did the trick. That stopped him in his tracks. He gazed at her, speechless, unhappy bewilderment flitting unchecked across his features momentarily before he was able to bring himself back under restraint. 'What reason have you to believe…'

'I know you far too well. I've been the one to cause that regret and resentment in you myself enough times for me to be able to recognise it straight away. Even without your emotions, I could tell the instant I clapped eyes on you. Someone else has marked their territory on you, Data.'

Data's fists closed up again. 'Then that is what this conversation is actually about, is it not? This has nothing to do with my wellbeing. It is simply for the gratification of this ongoing, morbid curiosity of yours, this irrational opinion that somehow it is your prerogative to be informed whenever I have sexual activities with anybody but yourself…'

'So I'm right, then. You did have sex with her.'

Data paused. 'I had little choice in the matter. I considered it to be the best option at the time to make her believe I had been seduced.'

'And it seems that you were right,' Tasha added. 'I mean, we're here, aren't we? Alive and well. You double-crossed her. _You_ double-crossed her.'

'I am by no means whatsoever proud of the lengths I went to in order to survive,' Data told her. 'If there is anything I can rely on concerning yourself, Commander, it is your… discretion…?' He left the comment hanging in the air - part plea, part bitter reminder.

'I'm not about to tell anybody,' Tasha replied. 'They wouldn't believe me even if I did.'

Data cast her a confused look.

'I mean,' Tasha added, 'this is you we're talking about here. Who could imagine that _you_ would ever become so cynical as to use sex as a tool for manipulation and deception… to bring not pleasure, but despair and destruction?'

Data looked her square in the eye. 'I had an excellent tutor.'

Tasha only flinched slightly as she held back her automatic impulse to punch him. What difference would that make, she asked herself – all that would get her would be a set of broken fingers.

'I know what you're doing,' she told him through clenched teeth. 'You're angry as all Hell, and you're lashing out at an easy target. That's why I'm going to let that slide.'

Data turned and picked up another armful of the bastardised Borg circuitry that had been ripped from Engineering. 'Please refrain from continuing with the pretence that you understand.'

Tasha watched as the dark wires and metal smashed into the distant wall. 'I was 12,' she announced, once the battered fragments had clattered to the floor. 'At the time, I was sheltering with two younger boys. They'd found the hiding place – it was safe and warm – and they let me take refuge there with them in return for protecting them and helping them to find food. Only, there came a time when the food supplies dried up, and we couldn't find any more. Not even carrion and weeds, all the other scavengers had got to them first. But there was this man. We knew he was hoarding plenty of food. We tried to steal some from him, but he was clever and quick, and strong. We tried begging, but he wasn't about to give us any food when it was so in demand without any payment in return.' Tasha took a deep breath. 'So, I whored myself. And in a way, it was worse than rape, because I had to smile, and sigh, and pretend to enjoy it. But in return, he gave me the food. Not just for me, but for my friends as well. And we all survived. And so, here we are.'

'Here we are,' echoed the android.

There was a pause – a little too long for comfort. Tasha suddenly realised that, even though when they had started their conversation, they had been a good two metres apart; they were now, somehow, standing less than an arm's length from one another. She took another deep breath.

'Well…?' She asked.

'Well…?' Data repeated, a little bemused.

'_Well?!_'

'Do you… wish to ask me something?'

'Do I have to spell it out, Data?'

'Evidentially, you do.'

Tasha realised that her arms were uncrossed and folded them against her chest again, quickly. 'How was she?'

'Ah.' Data nodded. 'Possessive fascination overrules sympathetic concern yet again. I presumed as much.'

'You've made me say it, now answer the damn question. How _was_ she?'

Data paused momentarily, searching for the right adjective. 'Pointy.'

'Pointy…?'

'Comparatively speaking. And very decisive, which made a considerable change from your usual sexual indecisions. Was that your meaning? You wished for me to compare her to yourself?'

'I want to know if you enjoyed it,' Tasha told him, testily. 'I mean, she gave you tactile sensations, and then she… I have to know if she was able to…'

She noticed a strange expression on Data's face. It was almost an amused smile.

'At that point, the human skin was only over my forearm,' Data replied through the half-smile. 'She was not _that _proficient.'

'So you didn't…'

'No.'

'So, you've still never…'

'No.'

'Did you pretend to? Like you used to…'

'Of course. I always do. It is only courteous.'

That made Tasha laugh a little. 'You still concerned yourself with sexual etiquette while you were plotting to foil her plans and destroy her. That's actually rather sweet.' She pushed a hand through her fringe. 'I mean, it's demented, but it's sweet.'

There was another pause. They broke it together, speaking at the same time.

'Was that all?' he asked, while she announced over him; 'I should go…'

She took a step back from him, repeating her statement. 'I really should go.'

'There was another reason that you came to speak with me,' said Data, watching her, 'was there not?'

'What do you mean?'

Data dropped his gaze for a second. 'I know how much you dislike not being the last person I had sexual contact with.'

'Data,' warned Tasha.

'As you said, your territory has been marked. You have always taken action to rectify that in the past.'

'No, Data,' she sighed, rubbing her face. 'No, no, no. Please, don't.'

'Perhaps it is that that is merely the natural state of being for us,' Data continued, a faint hint of desperation in his voice.

'We have to stop making the same stupid mistake over and over again,' hissed Tasha, over him.

'Perhaps,' added Data, apparently ignoring her, 'that is the reason why everything now seems so… wrong.' He gazed at her, hopefully. 'A slight deviation from the proper order of things, easily rectified, since she is gone and you are here…'

'You and me, Data… It's… unprofessional, unhealthy and exploitative, remember? Those are your words, not mine.' Tasha willed herself to take another step away from him, but her body didn't seem to be wired up properly to her brain. 'You made your position very clear, and, you know what? You were right. We can't put ourselves through all of that again, especially not now… not now you can get hurt.'

'Do not patronise me. I am fully aware of the implications of my proposal. My emotion chip is properly functional…'

'Is it? I don't think so, Mister. You're on a massive destructive bent, and that's just fine with me, but… but going down that road again? That's a step too far. Data.' She put a hand awkwardly on the crook of his elbow. 'Look at where it's led us so far.'

'Precisely,' replied Data, making no attempt to remove her hand. 'What friendship do we have to lose?'

She pulled her hand away from him herself. 'You're only doing this because you think it will put everything back to normal, that somehow us falling into bed together yet again will somehow write over what happened with her, make it as if it never happened. But it did happen, and I can't change that for you. Nothing will ever make the memory of what you did, or that dreadful, dirty feeling about it go away. Trust me. I've tried hard enough myself.'

'You are continuing to patronise me,' Data persisted. 'If you no have no wish to indulge in sexual intercourse with me, then simply say so.'

'I can't, Data. You'll only regret it later, we both will, same as always.'

She tried to step away again, but this time it was Data's turn to grab her elbow. 'That is not what I asked. Do you _wish_ to?'

She clasped his hand on the crook of her arm, and tried to pull it away. Not that she imagined she'd be capable of removing his grip by force, but as a means of persuading him that she wanted him to let go. 'I can't.'

'But do you _wish_ to?'

'I _can't_.'

She watched his eyes as the desperation in them briefly muddled into a distressed confusion, then quickly settled back into the old, steely resentment with which she had now become so familiar, as his hand fell from her arm and balled into a fist at his side.

'In which case, Commander,' replied the android, tersely; 'I shall see you on the bridge.'

Tasha took another step away from him. 'You know, you'll thank me for this in the long run.'

'I shall see you on the bridge.'

She pointed at the pile of ripped-out machinery Data had yet to throw as she reached the hangar's door. 'Just remember, it's that stuff you want to destroy. Not yourself. You paid a high price in order to survive. Better to make that count.'

'I shall see you. On. The bridge. Commander.'

She paused as the door opened. He didn't turn to watch her go. 'Guess so.'

She stepped out of the hangar and pressed her back against the door after it had slid shut behind her. She waited for a moment, quietly, and listened, as the smashing started up again – louder and more frequent than it had been before. It took around thirty seconds for the crashes and clatters to grow so close together that one was barely discernable from the next; a frenzied cacophony of metal on metal that continued, relentlessly for some time. And then it stopped. Tasha turned side on to the door, the side of her head and an open palm pressed against it as she drank in the silence.

The smashing sounds started up again, with a slow, almost organic rhythm this time, and Tasha stepped away from the door, pushed back her hair and walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

It Never Happened

-x-

_But there was something wrong with that moment, wasn't there? That isn't how the story went. That wasn't as fate had decreed it. Well, fate, you see, is not the constant it's often made out to be. Fate is merely which route you take on a criss-crossing network of possible paths, and if you look back far enough, you will see the crossroads at which the path you already know splits away from that which we're walking along now._

_So, back we go. Back to a point that is not the beginning, but at least is where The End, quite mundanely, simply fails to happen._

-x-

Divergence

-x-

Tasha poked her head through the Sickbay door. 'Knock knock?'

Dr Crusher looked up with a smile. 'It's OK, you can come in.'

Tasha did so, a small clutch of tulips in her hand. 'Thought our little invalid could do with something to cheer her up… oh.' She broke off with a small sigh as she saw the huge spray of roses on the table next to the dozing patient, which dwarfed her posy by comparison. 'Will's been in to see her, I take it.'

Beverly grinned, offering Tasha a small vase for her bouquet. 'Never does anything by halves. The tulips are lovely. I'm sure she'll be delighted.'

Tasha shrugged, trying to find a spot on the table where her own offering wouldn't be completely overshadowed by the roses. 'How's she doing?'

Beverly leaned against a computer bank. 'Her fever still hasn't broken yet.'

'She still delirious?'

'Heeeere puss puss puss puss…' sang a quiet, cracked voice from the bed, as if in answer to Tasha's question.

Yar looked over at the invalid with a little smile that she hoped looked more sympathetic than amused. Poor Deanna looked simply dreadful – her eyes were sunken and rolled back, her lips pale and chapped, her dark hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. Tasha picked a cold compress up from the table next to the stricken Betazoid and placed it on her worried brow.

'Still feeling crummy, huh?'

Deanna's face crumpled in sudden distress. 'But I don't _want_ any pancakes,' she wailed.

Tasha shot the Doctor an impish glance. 'Sounds lucid enough to me.'

'You tell them,' rambled Deanna, earnestly. 'You have to tell those men I'll be with them as soon as I can. Just let me finish cooking breakfast, and then I have to recalibrate…' She tried to push herself up on the bed. 'Have to recalibrate the wurdles… the wurly wurdles…'

Tasha gently pushed her friend back down onto her back and turned to the Doctor. 'She'll miss her conference at this rate.'

Beverly shook her head. 'She's already missed it. She'll never be on her feet in time. The other delegates are going to rendezvous directly with the Telemachus now.'

'No!' Tasha turned round to see Troi sitting bolt upright, trying to put her shoes on the wrong feet. 'Susan's right. I have to go. They'll paint it all the wrong colour if I'm not there to show them.'

Crusher rushed over to her patient, pushing her back by the shoulders. 'Deanna Troi, the only place you're going is back to bed.'

'Don't you come round here with your eleven faces,' Deanna railed weakly as she was pushed back down again. 'I told you before, I'll do it on Tuesday.'

'Deanna?' Beverly warned. 'Get some rest.'

The feverish Counsellor's expression flicked suddenly from bewildered distress to a beatific smile. 'Zuzu's petals!'

Tasha gave Deanna's hand a quick squeeze. 'I'd better go. I have work to do.'

'Here comes the night train, crossing the border,' murmured Deanna peacefully, closing her eyes, 'bringing the cheque and the postal order. Clickety clack, switch the track…'

'But I'll leave you in Beverly's capable hands, OK?'

'Ding ding, all change,' Deanna whispered.

Tasha paused briefly at the door. 'Get well soon, Deanna. And don't worry – there'll be other conferences. Your health comes first.'

'Everything's going to be fine,' slurred Troi as she slipped happily back into sleep. 'It's all going to be just fine.'

-x-

_And so that path split away from the one you know. A shuttle still crashed, a ship still attempted to retrieve it, lives were still lost – but not hers. The only effect it had on her was that it made her sigh and shake her head when she heard about the tragedy that had befallen those people that she didn't know, and thank her lucky stars that her friend had been too sick to take that ill fated journey. It gave her an uneasy feeling that she had escaped a brush with destiny, but she never knew to what extent that was true._


	3. Chapter 3

Wonderland

-x-

Tasha let out a slight, audible sigh of resignation as she turned the corner and saw who else was waiting for the Turbolift. A couple of months ago she would have actually considered sneaking off for a moment and waiting for him to go, in order to save them both the unnecessary and uncomfortable silences. Of course, time was a great healer of even awkward situations such as these, and she'd since come to realise that any discomfort emanating from their stilted conversations were purely on her part. He had followed her request to the letter – he continued as though The Unfortunate Incident had never happened - and since Tasha rarely struck up a friendly dialogue with him or involved him in what laughably posed as her social life - if they didn't have that brief, surprising, exhilarating, idiotic moment to share, then besides work, they really didn't have much to talk about.

Nevertheless, she still found being alone with him in enclosed spaces difficult, so a shared Turbolift ride was the last thing she needed, especially today. It was a day that she desperately wanted to pass swiftly and without incident, and spending the first few minutes of it killing time with a former accidental paramour wasn't exactly her idea of getting it off to a great start.

She squared her shoulders and stepped next to him at the Turbolift door.

'Morning,' she greeted him, politely.

Data turned his head to her. 'Good morning.'

As they made eye contact, Tasha wished for what had to be the thousandth time that the Tsiolkovsky virus could have been kind enough to have left her memory blank or muddled. But, no. This was an inebriation that left perfect, vivid memories of the sufferer's uninhibited behaviour. As she offered the android a perfunctory little smile of acknowledgement, some masochistic section of her conscious merrily pulled up an unbidden pornographic slideshow of their tryst, which snapped lurid images across her mind's eye.

And he would have a photographic memory of the event too, she reminded herself, and wondered briefly whether he pictured her "in-flagrante" whenever they spoke with quite the same consistency that she did him. Of course he didn't – did he? No, of course not. That was absurd. The whole damn situation was absurd.

'Are you having a pleasant day?' Added the android, conversationally.

'I've only just got up,' Tasha replied, turning back to face the Turbolift doors as they slid open, 'so it's hard to say, yet.' She was struck by a sudden spark of suspicion as she stepped forward towards the lift. He didn't know, did he…? 'Why do you ask?'

Data tried to answer, but was momentarily distracted as he too tried to step through the Turbolift's doors at the same time as her, causing them both to bump into one other and inelegantly wedge together in the doorway briefly. It didn't help matters that the unexpected physical contact caused Tasha to involuntarily freeze on the spot while Data looked down at himself in mild surprise, 'Hmm'd, attempted to step further forwards to no avail, then turned side-on slightly and squeezed through. Her path clear again, Tasha was able to step fully into the lift herself, folding her arms tightly across her chest and focussing her eyes on a spot just above Data's left ear as the doors closed again behind them. A sudden realisation hit her, which firmly cemented her suspicions. She narrowed her eyes at him.

'You're off duty today.'

Data nodded, simply. 'Indeed I am.'

'So why are you going up to the Bridge?'

Data's expression was transparent. He had been caught out, but for some reason, he couldn't tell her. Instead of answering, he just repeated her question slowly, as though ruminating it. 'Why… am I… going up to the Bridge…?'

'Yes. Why are you going up to the Bridge?'

'Why am _I_ going up to the _Bridge_…?'

Tasha cocked her head a little, her arms still tightly wrapped around her chest. 'Are you stuck in a loop, or something?'

'Am I stuck in a loop…?'

She snorted a small laugh at his attempts to cover up. 'For God's sake, Data. You're going up because the Captain wants everybody to sing 'Happy Birthday' to me but he told you not to tell me.'

'No…' Data attempted.

'No?' repeated Tasha, ominously. 'So when the lift opens there won't be a Bridge full of people shouting "surprise" and throwing streamers in my face?'

'Most likely,' nodded Data, 'but it is not the Captain who has organised it. It was Commander Riker.'

Tasha gave the ceiling a despairing glance. 'Dammit, Will!'

Data 'Hmm'd again. 'Would I be correct in concluding that you do not, in fact, wish to celebrate your birthday?'

'Correct, Data,' Tasha sighed.

'I have found that that is not an uncommon issue,' Data breezed. 'Many individuals I have spoken to appear to begrudge the anniversary of their birth since they see it as a marker of the passage of time – a reminder that they are ageing…'

'I'm not worried about getting old!'

Data frowned a little. 'Then what reason could you have for shunning what is, essentially, a celebration of your existence?'

Tasha nodded curtly at him. 'That's your reason, right there.'

Data just blinked.

'Birthday parties, Data? Cake and presents and a silly little song? It's not about getting older, it's about trying to stay a little kid. Why does my birth have to be celebrated every year? It's all so childishly egotistical.' She paused. 'You think I had Birthdays when I was growing up? No, I was too busy surviving.'

'So, your dislike of your Birthday is because it reminds you of your childhood, which was unpleasant…'

'I didn't have a childhood,' Tasha replied as the lift came to a halt. 'I just don't see the point in any of th…'

'Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you!'

Tasha snapped her head away from Data and pulled what she hoped was a convincing expression of delighted surprise as the doors slid open to reveal a Bridge full of song and confectionary. Riker (that son of a bitch), Deanna and Wesley all crowded her at the doorway with a large cake so that she couldn't leave it until they had finished singing. She managed a small, genuine giggle at the expense of the distinctive Basso Profundo of the Klingon in the background, who blatantly didn't know the words or tune and was limping along a note after everybody else, as well as Data, behind her, who was the only one who sang 'Lieutenant Yar' instead of 'Dear Tasha' in the third line. And when it was over, she put her hands to her chest as if overwhelmed at the wonder of it all.

'Did we surprise you?' asked Wesley, eagerly.

Deanna Troi, at his side, shook her head - a warm, knowing smirk at the corner of her lip. 'She's not surprised. Somebody must have told her.'

Riker tutted. 'Data!'

'I did not inform her,' Data exclaimed, innocently. He furrowed his brow a little and added '…as such. Lieutenant Yar discovered our plot through means of deduction.'

Riker put his hand on Tasha's shoulder and ushered her onto the Bridge. 'Deduction, eh? Maybe you should get Tasha to join you in your next Sherlock Holmes adventure, then.'

'You'd make a great Watson,' added Geordi from behind the others, his mouth full of cake.

Tasha looked over her shoulder briefly in an attempt to somehow communicate silently to the android that she most definitely did _not_ want to play detectives with him, and was worried to see that Data was staring very intently at her, with an expression that suggested he was Getting An Idea.

'I don't think I'd suit the mutton chops…' protested Tasha, but still Data gazed at her, intently.

Suddenly, he blinked. Evidentially, he had come to some sort of decision. 'Would you please excuse me,' he asked, stepping back into the Turbolift. 'There is something that I believe I should do.'

Tasha tried to say something to the android, but was distracted by a large slice of cake and a genial 'Happy Birthday' from her Captain, and when she turned around to the lift again, the doors had closed and Data was already gone.

-x-

The alert at her door made her jump a little. She set down her book and cautiously went to the door, hoping for all the world that it wasn't Data.

But, of course, it was.

'Data,' she greeted curtly, blocking the doorway with her arm.

'I am surprised that you are alone in your quarters,' Data told her. 'Did you not wish to join the others in Ten-Forward?'

Tasha smiled a little, but still kept her arm jammed stiffly against the doorframe. The flashes of memory were bad enough as it was without having him back in her private quarters to boot. 'If Will Riker thought he could drag me in there after our shifts, do you think he would have bothered with Birthday cake on the Bridge?'

Data nodded in understanding. 'You are avoiding a social situation as it is still your Birthday.' He paused, momentarily. 'May I request that, if you are not busy, you come with me?'

Tasha didn't budge. 'He sent you over to get me, didn't he?'

'I have not been sent by anybody.'

Still, Tasha stayed put.

'I am not about to lead you to any social gathering,' Data ensured her. 'There is something that I wish to show you.'

Tasha wasn't sure that that sounded any better. 'Is important?'

'I do not know,' Data admitted. 'It could be. I suppose that that is dependant on your interpretation.'

Tasha bit the inside of her lip. 'OK, Data. You've got me intrigued now.' She stepped out of her quarters, being careful not to brush past him as she did. 'Show me what you've got.' She winced a little at the slight double-entendre, although he didn't seem to pick up on it at all as he led the way ahead of her.

-x-

They stopped at a door. Tasha groaned a little. 'The Holodeck? Data, what Riker said about Sherlock Holmes was a joke, you know. I really don't think it's a good idea for…'

'It is not a Sherlock Holmes simulation.' He opened the door and gestured for her to enter. 'Please. I should like for you to see it. It took me some time to prepare.'

She gazed at him sceptically, forcing the lurid mental snapshots to the back of her mind. His expression was open and blankly courteous, like somebody who had just stepped aside for a lady with an 'after you' gesture, and got stuck that way. He had no hidden agenda – that much she could read. He probably just wanted her opinion on some anomaly or other… that damned Holodeck _was_ constantly on the fritz, after all.

She stepped inside.

And stopped.

And gaped.

She found her head automatically tilting upwards. Bright electric lights danced for what seemed like miles above her in the summer twilight sky. Above and around her were the screams of children and teenagers as they whizzed by in rickety pods and cars. The air smelled of sawdust, sugar and vinegar, and was hot with whirring petroleum engines and clamouring crowds.

'A Funfair?'

Data stepped up next to her. 'I did not have much time available to research experiences that are universally enjoyed by the young. An evening at an amusement fair was one which particularly captured my attention.'

Tasha craned her head further upwards to read the giant, illuminated sign almost directly above her – _WONDERLAND_.

'It is still fairly rudimentary at this stage,' Data continued in a faintly apologetic tone. 'Standard attractions, although many are historically based. It commences at this point with rides and stalls from Coney Island, circa 1920, and becomes progressively more contemporary the further down this main pathway one ventures…'

Tasha took a good look at the hotdog stand directly to her left. She couldn't help but notice that, in spite of Data's apparent attention to historical detail, there was still something plainly wrong about it. The counter came up to the top of her head. The whole place was two times too big.

'I hate to break this to you, Data,' she breathed, 'but you've got the scale all wrong.'

'Not wrong,' Data corrected her, 'merely different. I have deliberately programmed this simulation at double size.'

'Why?'

Data gazed at her as though she had just missed something glaringly obvious. 'So that it can be experienced as a child would.'

Tasha blinked. 'What?' she asked, softly.

'You did not have a childhood,' Data replied. 'That is a misfortune that I can sympathise with, since I did not have one either. However, due to the nature of my being, that is the natural state of affairs for myself. But not for you. Humans need to play during their infancy, it is how they develop, and you were denied that, which is why I have created this.'

Tasha stared at him, then up at the _WONDERLAND_ sign again, then back at him once more. 'This is for me?'

Data nodded. 'Happy Birthday.'

'You made this for _me?_'

'I thought that you might appreciate something that can give you the opportunity to indulge in juvenile enjoyment in adulthood, without feeling self-conscious. You need not concern yourself about exhibiting childlike behaviour in front of your peers here. It is a private programme. If you wish, its existence can remain a secret between the two of us.'

Tasha's smile of amazement faded swiftly. 'Yes. Don't we have a lot of those.' She shook her head. 'I can't accept this, Data.'

'You do not like it?' Data blinked, serenely. 'Very well. Thank you for coming to see it.'

'It's not that, it's just… it's too much.' Tasha paused. 'This is a romantic gift, isn't it?'

'It is a… Birthday gift,' Data clarified, a little confused.

'I don't want to accept this if it's going to give you the wrong impression about us,' Tasha added. 'Data, this is so sweet, so flamboyant. It's the sort of thing somebody would do to tell someone that they… had feelings for them.'

'I do not have any feelings.'

Tasha opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, wondering how better to approach the subject. She had shied away from mentioning The Incident ever since it had happened – it would have been easier to avoid a blunt discussion about it altogether until the end of time, as far as she was concerned. However, she was all too aware that, of all the people to attempt to skirt an issue with, Data was one of the worst. Tactful allusions had a tendency to sail several metres above his precisely coiffed head. She was also aware that this was actually the first private moment she had allowed them together – the first, and possibly last, opportunity for her to get Data's take on events, and a better idea of how exactly that accident had happened. Perhaps the moment had her come for her to finally be straightforward about the matter. She steeled herself and gazed deliberately at him.

'Why did you have sex with me?'

Data returned her gaze, plainly. 'Because you asked me to.'

'But you had to have known it was a mistake.'

Data nodded. 'With hindsight, I can see that it was inadvisable to have indulged in sexual intercourse with a close colleague, particularly one who I had only recently met.' He paused. 'Are you insinuating that our sexual contact has somehow coloured my decision to create this programme?'

'Data, I just wanted to…'

'You may be right,' interrupted Data, a spark of realisation in his eyes. 'Have I been correct in assuming that, since our sexual encounter our social relationship has been strained – that it has caused you to feel animosity towards me?'

'Not animosity, Data.' Tasha hugged her arms a little. 'Awkwardness, perhaps. But you're right about the social relationship. I don't think we have one to speak of.'

'Then perhaps, without fully realising to what extent, I created this simulation as a means of recreating the social link that we lost.'

'So you just want us to be friends,' Tasha clarified.

'I do not believe that we are capable of being "just friends" now, since that implies an entirely platonic relationship.' Data paused again, watching the twinkling lights on the slowly revolving Ferris wheel. 'It is not in my programming to pursue sex, and am not regularly propositioned. I perceive it as a very rare and unique bonding process, after which, my partner in that act becomes… of particular import to me.' The android turned back to Tasha. 'I have noticed that you have seemed troubled as a result of our union, which has disconcerted me somewhat. I have never elicited that reaction before. I contemplated whether it might have been a result of my performance, but you seemed quite content at the time of the act. And then I considered that you are the only partner I have had who was not in full control of their faculties during proposition or fulfilment.'

Tasha scuffed at the sawdust on the ground a little. 'Neither of us was.'

'That is not entirely true. The Tsiolkovsky Virus was particularly swift to act on myself, and by the time we parted company I was indeed thoroughly intoxicated by it, but in the initial stages I had a far greater wherewithal than you. I should have seen that you were not acting coherently, I should have realised that it was a mistake to accept your proposal, but I did not. I was keen to demonstrate my abilities to you, and to experience that unique closeness, so… I took advantage of you.'

Tasha spluttered a laugh.

'In which case,' persisted Data, 'perhaps this simulation is, in fact, a gift of apology.'

Tasha continued to giggle. 'Data. No. Believe me. No. You did not take advantage of me.'

She took a deep breath of sweet carnival air. If anything, she added, silently to herself, it had been the other way around. She had been aware of how accommodating he was when he had walked into her quarters. She – desperate to seduce – had asked him to have sex with her and he – programmed to oblige – had done so. And that was the end of it.

And now, she chastised herself, she had made an ass of herself. He had done this thoughtful, lovely thing for her, thinking that he had distressed or offended her in some way, and she had snubbed it, thinking… _what_ was she thinking…? That somehow he'd broken all of his programming, found a hidden pool of emotion somewhere within himself and then, without breathing a word about it to anyone, fallen head over heels in love with her because they'd slept together once, months ago? Of course it wasn't a romantic gift. It was simply what he said it was – an opportunity to be a child again, an opportunity to start anew… for both of them. She looked up at the bright electric _WONDERLAND _sign again.

'This is beautiful,' she told him. 'I'll take it.'

'You have changed your mind.'

'On one condition,' Tasha replied. 'I want you to promise you'll share it with me.'

'Are you certain?' Data frowned. 'I had assumed that you were avoiding me in social contexts. Would it not be uncomfortable for you sharing a secret Holodeck programme with me?'

'It would be boring here on my own,' Tasha told him, 'and if this is a place for people who didn't have a childhood, then you're certainly as at home here as I am. Besides.' She made a deliberate point of unfolding her arms, and clasped them behind her back in order to keep them from crossing over her chest again. 'I think I would like us to try being "just friends", Data. We might have blown that in the real world, but in here… well, if we're children then we're without sex, and if we're without sex, then… I think that would make You And Me something much more simple – something I think we'd both find much easier to get along with.'

'It would certainly be an intriguing insight into an element of human life with which I am not overly familiar, were I to seek to simulate the behaviour of a young child at a funfair,' muttered Data, half to himself.

'See?' She slapped his arm a little with the back of her hand, delighting inwardly that the physical contact didn't make her tense up or summon filthy memories. 'You're positively giddy about it already.'

'Giddy…?' Data repeated, blankly. 'I do not believe that I am.'

'Tell you what'll make anybody giddy,' Tasha grinned, 'a ride on the Wall Of Death.' She nodded at the attraction in question, making a few steps towards it as she did. 'Come on!'

Data stayed where he was. 'You wish us to be spun in a centrifuge.'

'Yes,' Tasha replied, a little impatiently. 'Come on!'

'Do you not wish to acquire some refreshments first?'

'Are you scared?'

'No. I am incapable of…'

'Then what's the problem?'

'There is no problem. I simply think that it would be wiser to begin with…'

'Data?'

'Yes?'

'Whose Birthday is it?'

'Yours.'

'Well, then.'

'Well, then…?'

'Wall of Death.'

The android sighed slightly, and walked after her. 'Wall of Death.'


	4. Chapter 4

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Risk Assessment

-x-

A hideous silence hung over the group, like a stifling fog. Tasha focussed on her knees as she sat in the motionless, gloomy huddle of friends. She wondered whether the others' hearts were thrumming and minds whirling under their superficially placid stances, as hers were. For some time, the only movement Tasha was aware of was the automatic nervous jiggling of her own leg.

'Two hours,' announced Geordi, suddenly. The others looked at him for a moment, before falling back into their own silent introspection once more.

There was another long pause.

'This gathering was not intended to be a vigil,' added Data, eventually, breaking the silence.

'What else could it be?' replied Geordi.

'I had hoped to spend the hours before the hearing amongst friends,' Data responded, 'much like yesterday evening when we assumed that I was resigning…'

'You just wanted more presents…' muttered Wesley with a faint smile.

'Not so, Wesley.' Data frowned. 'Is that what you believe? Is that the reason why you all appear to be so… uncomfortable with this gathering?'

Wesley shook his head, a little embarrassed. 'Gallows humour, Data.'

'"Gallows Humour"…?' Data's frown of confusion deepened. 'I do not believe that any outcome of this hearing will result in my being sent to the Gallows. Not only has that method of execution not been used since…'

'Stop trying to make us feel better,' Tasha snapped, suddenly.

'I am not,' Data told her, calmly. 'I am merely…'

'Yes you are!' Tasha tried to stop her knee jiggling, but couldn't. 'Stop being so... so _Data _about this,acting like everything's gonna be OK. It's not.'

'Tasha…' Deanna put a soothing hand on her friend's shoulder, but Tasha batted it away.

'How can we stand this? How can you expect any of us to stand this?' She got to her feet, impulsively. 'I can't bear this any longer.'

'Tasha?'

She marched briskly to the door, without looking back, and let herself out into the corridor before she could give herself chance to change her mind.

The door slid open again almost as soon as it had closed behind her.

'Tasha.'

She ground to a halt, taking in a deep breath, but didn't turn around. 'Go back to your party, Data.'

'You appear to be taking my unfortunate predicament particularly personally, Lieutenant. Need I remind you that this is not your battle to be won, but mine.'

Tasha finally turned on her heel to look at him. She found that his blank, collected stance only infuriated her more.

'There shouldn't _be _a battle, Data! The very fact that they're making you fight like this is proof that it's unfair. Don't you understand? They're going to rip you apart…'

'They will not,' replied Data, calmly, 'as far as I can help it…'

Tasha threw her hands up in the air. 'Oh, and how are you going to do that? Sit politely in a dock and ask them nicely not to abuse you? Let me tell you, Data,' she continued, pointing furiously at the android, 'I know men like that Bastard Maddox. I've seen that look in his eye a hundred times before. That's the look people get when they want to pull the legs off a spider or pour salt on a slug just to see what'll happen. That's the look people get when they want to tear something insignificant to pieces and put it back together again all wrong, and no amount of talk is going to make them stop.'

'How else do you propose that I should attempt to defy Maddox?'

'Run,' Tasha hissed. 'You're fast enough, you're strong enough… what is there to stop you turning tail right now, stealing a shuttle and vanishing into the infinite?'

'There is you to stop me.' Data quirked his head a little at her. 'As the Chief of Security, surely it would be your responsibility to do all that you could to prevent my escape.'

'Data,' she whispered, even though the corridor was empty, 'please, just run, OK?'

Data paused for a second. 'I believe that you are suggesting that your personal support of my cause might lead you to wilfully neglect your duties to the ship in the case of my attempted flight; the consequences of which would be considerable. I do not wish for you to jeopardise your career or your liberty for the sake of this argument.'

'Data…' Tasha warned.

'Therefore,' Data concluded, 'I shall not give you the opportunity to do so. I shall attend the hearing as planned. For many years now I have placed my trust in Starfleet, and have found kinship and protection in return. I have faith in their judgement.' He paused again. 'Do you not, Lieutenant? You have devoted your life to serving Starfleet. I sincerely hope that recent events have not dissuaded you from that loyalty.'

Tasha shook her head, slowly. 'I just don't know any more, Data. Starfleet seemed so pure to me, so right and just after the world I'd known growing up. But this…? If they do this, Data, if they go through with what Maddox has in mind… then they're no better than the rape gangs that used to trawl through the sewers of my colony.'

'You equate Maddox's proposed experiments with the rapes you endured?'

'I saw the innocent and defenceless being dehumanised, enslaved, violated and often killed,' Tasha replied, fiercely counting off each point with her fingers. 'They've already started dehumanising you by making you beg for your right to self-autonomy. The rest can't be far behind. And you're supposed to just sit there and take it? We're all just supposed to simply carry on as normal and let it happen? No way, Data. I'm not gonna stand idly by. I'm gonna get you out of this.'

'As much as I welcome any assistance being offered to me in this case, and as advantageous as it would be for me to, as you put it, "get out" of this situation, I must still refuse to allow you to help me through any illegal means. Perhaps you can assist the Captain in building a solid defence.' Data took a step closer to Tasha. 'Would you please return to the gathering in my quarters with me? Should the judgement not fall in my favour, it would be unfortunate for my last memory of you to be one as angry as you are now.'

'I most certainly will not,' Tasha seethed. 'You need that anger, Data. You deserve that anger. You… you…'

Without thinking, she lashed out both hands, grabbed the front of his uniform, pulled him into her and crushed her lips to his. She was vaguely aware of how aggressive an act it was, and that the corridor they were standing in, while still empty for the time being, was far from secluded, but the fury and desperation jangling through her nerves overrode her misgivings. She grabbed the back of his head and forced her tongue into his unprotesting mouth. It took a moment for Data to react in any way, only bringing into sharp focus Tasha's memory of their brief tryst – the occasional pauses as he processed which would be the most suitable response to her desires – and then… and then…

It was just as he brought his own hand up to her hair, and ran his tongue against hers that she pulled away from him.

'You keep hold of that anger, Data,' she gasped. 'Just you remember how angry this has made me. I _will_ see you again. I _am_ going to get you out of this.'

'Tasha…' he frowned as she speedily backstepped away from him, 'with regards to what just…'

'I'll get you out of this,' repeated Tasha quickly, drowning out his voice. This was not the time to discuss her reasons behind having just kissed him. Not least, because she honestly had no explanation to give herself. She turned tail and hurried away from him before either of them could do or say any more.

-x-

Tasha sat in her little corner of the bar, sipping slowly at a coffee and pretending not to watch Picard – pretending not to see him wrack his brains, and worry, and silently despair.

She had to go over to him. She had to help him. She had promised. She just wished that there were some other way. She knew where the information she had to tell Picard would lead, and how little she wanted to go there, and how little she believed it would even make any sort of difference. But it was all she had, and she'd promised. She had to try. She had to try.

She got up from her corner and moved over to the Captain's small table, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm her nerves.

'How's it going?' she murmured.

Picard peered back at her from beneath a creased forehead. 'How specifically do you mean?'

'As specifically as you're allowed.'

'Not well,' admitted the Frenchman, quietly. 'I know that's the last thing you want to hear,' he added.

'It's the last thing any of us want to hear, right?'

Picard nodded in sad agreement. 'I know that you've been particularly vociferous in your opposition to this… this…' The Captain trailed off.

'This travesty?' completed Tasha. 'Yes, I have, Sir. But then, it wasn't much more than a year ago that it was us who were in his shoes; called to defend our right to exist against a conceited being who considered us little more than playthings, and I protested against that until I was very literally blue in the face. It would be pretty hypocritical of me to sit back and let somebody else do exactly the same thing to another person.'

'Another person who stood shoulder to shoulder with us in the dock for mankind's judgement,' Picard added with a sigh. 'I know, Tasha. The irony is certainly not lost on me, either.'

'This shouldn't be happening, Sir. He's sentient. He has a personality. Anyone can understand that…'

'Apparently not,' Picard replied, quietly. 'At least, not in the short space of time I have to make them understand.' He paused. 'I need something… something to show them the Data we know. Something to show them his… well, for want of a better word, his soul. I've even gone so far as rifling through his personal artefacts, and I'm afraid I really didn't find terribly much. I need something else. If only I knew what it was I was looking for.'

There was a long pause. Tasha closed her eyes, pressed the sweaty palms of her hands together and took a deep breath.

'Sir, I'd like to testify.'

'Tasha,' replied Picard, softly, 'believe me, if I could, I'd have a line of character witnesses queuing out of the door…'

'It's not like that.' Tasha swallowed. 'I think I have that "something else" that you're searching for.'

Picard didn't reply, but regarded her with a serious silence.

Tasha got to her feet. 'I think you'd better come with me, Sir. There's something I think you should see.'

-x-

Tasha sat alone in her quarters, staring out into the middle distance, yet again her only movement a tensely jiggling knee and her fingertips drumming against her table.

It wasn't going to be enough, she told herself. After all that she'd given them, it still wasn't going to be enough to save him. She had weighed up the options, and taken the risk, and it had still fallen short.

She had given them Wonderland. Her beautiful gift - their secret place. That had been her initial sacrifice. Walking around the simulation with Jean-Luc Picard, explaining how Data had built a childhood for her to recover and basking in the Captain's astonished marvel, she had felt strangely emboldened, and had begun to actually feel quite good about setting that secret free in the courtroom; letting their probing, dispassionate eyes see the thoughtfulness, sympathy and creativity that this so-called automaton was capable of. But, of course, the secret of Wonderland came with other, deeper secrets attached.

_(…his tongue on hers… get you out of this… fingers in his hair… her hair… his tongue… fingers…)_

She had hoped that giving them Wonderland would have been sufficient, that the reasons behind its creation and maintenance wouldn't be searched, but had known deep down that that couldn't be the case. Believing that it would be best not to reveal anything unless she knew she absolutely had to, she had taken the risk of not informing Picard, prior to her taking the stand with her small holo projection of the simulation, of the full series of events that had lead Data to build it. But, of course, the Captain had asked the android what the nature of the gift had been, and after a brief confusion in which Data had tried to explain about the ruined surprise party, the loss of Tasha's childhood and the point of birthday presents in general, Picard had clarified that a description of Data's relationship to Tasha might help the adjudicator to understand why he had put so much effort into such a gift.

And Data, damn him to Hell, had said nothing.

She cringed again, recalling the sinking feeling she'd had in her gut as Picard had – with a slight element of surprise – repeated his question and again received only silence as a reply.

Data - who she was now considering damning different parts of to several different Hells, and thinking of asking Worf whether the Klingon culture had any particularly good ones she could condemn a large portion of him to - had just looked at her, stuck between two opposing vows, appealing to her for a way out.

_(…get you out of this… his tongue, his tongue…)_

Of course she'd had to speak up. Of course she'd been forced to explain that the reason Data couldn't reply was that he couldn't truthfully do so without contradicting an earlier promise he had made.

She closed her eyes as she relived, for what felt like the thousandth time that day, that moment – Picard's expression as he gently prompted her to tell the assembly what promise that was, and her own voice stating that the persecuted android had promised to keep secret the fact that his relationship with her was, in her words, 'not platonic'.

_(…changes everything… different now… fingertips drum drum tongue hair lips skin tongue…)_

She recalled the silence that had descended after that. She couldn't rightly remember whether Picard had asked her whether she had meant that it was a romantic relationship or not, but she had a concrete memory of her voice speaking out in the hush, giving the only further description of the nature of that relationship that she honestly could – namely, that it was 'complicated'. She recalled turning her gaze from Picard to Will Riker, awaiting his cross-questioning. His face… Will's face… the look of horror she had seen in the eyes of that dear friend of hers was going to haunt her for the rest of her days, she was sure. Riker had declined to cross-examine her testimony. At the time, she had been glad to have been able to scurry away from all those staring eyes without another word, but the more she contemplated it now, the more pessimistic she grew. If what she had had to say had been of any importance, Will would have had to at least try to discredit it. Her revelation had been immaterial. Of course it was immaterial. Sex was just another function to Data – that he'd once obliged a lonely, frustrated friend _(…fingertips tongue tip more yes more…)_ made him no more human than… than would making a cup of tea for somebody who said they were thirsty, or scratching an itch for someone who couldn't reach. It was no good. They were going to take him anyway. She had risked it all, given everything that they had together, betrayed his discretion, prostituted his gifts to her and destroyed her reputation with those she admired. And it still wasn't good enough.

_(…good yes good slower slower soft slowly lips kiss tongue yes good…)_

She drummed her fingertips harder _(harder, harder)_ on her table, screwing up her eyes as though somehow that could squeeze out the errant visions that had been playing in the back of her mind ever since she'd surprised them both with that kiss _(his tongue on hers, his tongue)_. Her friend, she reminded herself, was about to be carted away in order to be experimented on and abused by the very people who were supposed to protect him… by the organisation that _she_ worked for. Perhaps it had already happened by now. Perhaps the judgement had already been passed. Perhaps Maddox was already pulling him to pieces, pushing his filthy hands beneath his skin _(hands fingers skin not yet not yet)_. How could she be thinking about what it was like to screw the guy at a time like this? It wasn't even as if she was ever going to get to see him again… She jiggled her knee a little more violently and berated herself again for thinking so selfishly. This wasn't about her. It wasn't her that the wolves were baying f…

Somebody was at her door. She leaped to her feet, her heart hammering at what felt like double time. It took her so long to compose herself enough to call 'Come in' that the alert at her door sounded a second time as she was saying it. She had taken the few fast strides she needed to get to the door by the time that it finally opened. She found herself almost nose to nose with the one person she had just convinced herself that she would never see again.

'Data.'

She stepped back a little, hit by a rushing maelstrom of relief, regret, hope and… and that elusive whatever-it-was that had caused her to desperately kiss him before. And the older, holo-sharp, pornographic memories, of course. There was no escaping those.

_(…him here it was him his tongue skin lips right here in here back alone again again oh yes again please now in here…)_

Apparently taking her retreat back into her quarters as an invitation to join her, he took a few steps inside, allowing the door to slide shut behind him.

_(…inside here in here we are again…)_

'Here we are again,' she echoed her own runaway thought-train, under her breath.

'Indeed, we are.'

'You won?' Tasha tried folding her arms across her chest, but somehow it didn't feel right. The adrenaline rush that had surged through her when she'd heard the alert at her door still hadn't died down. It itched inside her, quickening her breath, churning her stomach, urging her to do… she wasn't sure what it was urging her to do.

'The judgement was made in my favour,' Data replied, serenely. 'I have opted to withdraw my resignation from Starfleet. I am returning to my post tonight.'

'You won,' breathed Tasha again, still unsure as to the best thing to do with her arms.

'I thought that I should inform you first,' added the android, 'for several reasons. This trial appears to have tested your trust in Starfleet, so I wanted you to be aware of its outcome as soon as was possible. I hope that the decision has gone towards restoring your faith in Starfleet as a reliably scrupulous organisation. I also wanted to thank you for your furious defence of me during these difficult few days. Although it is my belief that the anger you have shown may well, in fact, be misdirected rage against those who mistreated you as a child, it did indeed prove advantageous to my case.' He took another step closer to her, barely pausing to draw breath before babbling on. 'Although it makes no difference to my own state of mind whether either the Holodeck simulation that I created for your birthday or our… indiscretion, shall we say, should be kept a secret or not…'

Tasha bit her lip, her arms still awkwardly searching for some way of occupying themselves, as the indiscretion in question played itself out in her mind yet again. Still, Data rambled on, mercifully not pausing to demand any sort of response from her.

'…I respect that you have your reasons for wishing to keep these between ourselves,' he continued, blithely. 'I can only imagine the emotional fortitude that it took for you to reveal such personal details, particularly in front of the Captain and Commander Riker. I am curious – was it purely your outrage which furnished you with the necessary courage to speak up at the hearing, or were there other factors also at play?'

Data halted his monologue as abruptly as he had began it, leaving her shaking her head at the various misconceptions he had managed to come up with.

'Data, what in the cosmos would make you think that what I did was just about me? Maybe I _am_ still mad about what happened to me as a girl, maybe I _was_ worried about Starfleet betraying the morality I believed in, but didn't you ever stop to think that maybe – just maybe, I did what I had to do to keep you here?' She took a small step closer to him. 'Didn't you think that I might have done it because I know I'd miss you like crazy if anything happened to you?'

Data nodded, barely perceivably, to himself. 'I was wondering why you had kissed me.' He returned his gaze to her. 'It was because you were concerned that you were going to miss me, should I not return…?'

_(again…again…again…)_

Tasha jerked her head in brisk affirmation. 'Yes.' She paused. _(againagainagain…)_ 'No… not entirely.' She could feel a prickly sweat forming on her brow. She wiped it with the back of her hand.

'Are you unwell, Tasha? Do you require assistance?'

'I'm fine,' she breathed. 'You'd better go.'

He placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. 'Are you certain?'

_(handskintouchlipstongueagainagainpleaseyesagain)_

'Just go,' she barked, turning from him.

Data's hand swung back limply to his side. 'Very well.' He turned to walk towards the door. 'I shall see you tomorrow…'

Data's route towards the door of Tasha's quarters suddenly took a very strange tangent indeed. The weight of a human woman barrelled into him from behind, catching him unawares, and hands gripped his shoulders to spin him around 180 degrees. He briefly caught Tasha's face and her whispered word -'don't' - before she pressed her lips against his once more, and all that he could see was her tilted forehead. He moved sideways with her, bounced briefly off a wall and let her guide him towards the bed, which, unfortunately, they both missed as she pulled him down beside her. There was an ephemeral moment of confusion as his hair got stuck in the fastening of her uniform. And the rest, as the saying went, was history.


	5. Chapter 5

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Risk Reduction

-x-

'Tasha.'

'Tasha…?'

'Tasha.'

She stirred a little, still half asleep. 'Mmmf?'

'It is five minutes before 2300 hours.'

'That's nice,' she mumbled into her blanket.

'I have to be on the Bridge shortly.'

''Kay.'

There was a momentary pause.

'Tasha.'

'What?' she grumbled, dozily.

'I appear to have mislaid my uniform.'

Tasha opened one eye to a shock of rather a lot of white skin in the darkness of her quarters. Data had managed to retrieve his socks from wherever it was they had been flung, but apart from that his apparent search for any other clothing had evidently been fruitless.

She'd done it again. Dammit! How had she done it again? She rubbed at her eyes.

'It is possible that you are lying on it,' Data continued, apologetically. 'Could you please check?'

Tasha propped herself up, discovering that she was not lying in her bed as she had assumed, but on her floor next to it, supported by several cushions hastily pulled from the bed and wrapped in her blanket… as well as, she realised on further inspection, one medium sized, man's Starfleet stretchsuit.

'Sorry,' she muttered, passing over the crumpled uniform. 'It's a bit mussed.'

'It is certainly better than nothing.' He dressed speedily and ran a comb that he had found next to her bed through his hair. 'Will that suffice, do you believe? I do not look particularly dishevelled?'

Apart from a couple of creases, he looked just as neatly angular as ever. She wrapped the blanket around herself again, wishing that there were some ground beneath her that could swallow her up. 'I'm sure nobody'll notice.'

Data hastened towards the door. 'It is unfortunate that, yet again, I must depart for the Bridge so shortly after copulation has ceased…'

'What a shame,' replied Tasha, so quietly beneath her blanket that she wasn't sure whether or not he could hear her, 'that we have to miss out on such delightful Pillow Talk…'

'Perhaps we should discuss this matter at a more convenient time,' Data added, stepping out of her quarters. 'I shall see you in the morning.'

The doors shut, and he was gone. Tasha curled into a foetal ball, the palms of her hands pressed flat over her screwed-up eyes.

'No,' she breathed to herself, 'no, no, no… you did it again. _Again!_ What possessed you _this_ time? Stupid, stupid, stupid…'

She pushed her hands through her hair, opening her eyes up yet again, and caught sight of a black, shiny object protruding from beneath her bed. She sighed, resignedly, and reached to pick it up, then groped further beneath the bed until she had retrieved the object's counterpart. She picked herself up off the floor, straightening herself out and wrapping the blanket around her like a shroud, and carried her findings over to the other end of the room, reaching the door just as she was alerted yet again to a visitor wanting to come in. The doors opened to reveal Data once more; looking, if Tasha didn't know better, almost embarrassed.

'My shoes…' he managed, before Tasha held the mislaid footwear in question out for him. With a hurried 'thank you', he took the shoes, and dashed off in the direction of the Turbolift. Tasha turned back into her quiet, dark bedroom, pressed her forehead hard against the nearest wall, and groaned.

-x-

Riker was glad to catch Tasha on her way to the Bridge… 'catch' being the operative word. She was walking so fast that he had to break into a light jog in order to close the gap between them, and seemed oblivious to his calling her name. In the end, he had to put his hand on her elbow in order to alert her to his presence and try to get her to slow her pace to a more genteel stroll. She recoiled nervously from his touch like a startled cat before she realised that it was him. Even then she didn't particularly relax. Will winced inwardly. He couldn't say that he blamed her, after the last couple of days. He wasn't terribly thrilled with himself at that present moment, either. It was a relief that Data had shown understanding of his actions, as well as those of the powers that had forced his hand. He only hoped that it wasn't too late for Tasha.

'Do we need to have a talk?'

She glanced at him for a moment longer before turning to walk again, slower, this time. 'I don't know. Do we?'

He sighed and followed her, wondering which was the best way to tackle the issue. Official business first, he decided. 'You've been making some pretty strong comments about Starfleet lately, Lieutenant…'

'Not about Starfleet as it stands, _Commander_,' replied Tasha, testily, 'my issues with the tribunal have been noted, and I stand by them.' She paused. 'There may have been a few things that I said off the record, in the heat of the moment, but…'

'Everybody's entitled to their opinion, off the record,' Riker told her. 'And, off the record, I have to admit that I agree with you. I'd have to add that I was very glad _somebody_ got angry about it. Off the record. But, if the hearing has made you unsure in any way about continuing to give your all to Starfleet, then I really have to know, sooner rather than later.'

'Had Maddox been permitted to go through with his plans,' replied Tasha in a tone that seemed strangely over-rehearsed to Riker, 'he could have tapped an immense potential for advancement in military technology. It could have brought the Federation light years ahead of our rivals and aggressors. But Louvois rejected all of that on Starfleet's behalf, for the sake of an individual's well-being. Simply because it was the right thing to do. I can't think of any other organisations that would show the same amount of integrity.'

Riker offered her a soft smile. 'Me neither.' They reached the Turbolift, and came to a stop as they waited for it. The Chief of Security's tense, detached expression didn't falter as she jiggled on one leg, arms crossed tightly across her chest. If anything, she looked even more anxious than she had moments ago. Riker's face fell. There were still some personal matters to clear up, after all. 'I've already apologised to Data about my involvement in this,' he told her, quietly. 'I guess I owe you one too, Tasha.'

'You were just obeying orders,' Tasha muttered.

'You left pretty sharply after you gave your testimony,' Riker began, watching Tasha gaze down at her feet in discomfort, 'so you wouldn't know quite how much the atmosphere of that courtroom changed after what you'd said. That's when I started to believe I could lose.' He paused. 'That it took such a personal, private testimony to swing the case is… it's a disgrace.' The Turbolift had arrived, and was mercifully empty. Riker stepped inside, followed by Tasha, her eyes still cast away from his. 'When I realised that that was the level we'd come down to; intruding on yours and Data's sex life… frankly, Tasha, I was horrified.'

Tasha blinked up at him, a little confused. '_That_ was why you were horrified?'

'Of course. It should never have come down to that, but it did… at a Starfleet tribunal, for pity's sake. It's appalling.' He squinted at her expression. 'Why? You didn't think I was disgusted by… by you and Data?'

Tasha bit her lips together. He could see that she was still embarrassed, but there was a smile there now as well – a little, twinkling, self-mocking smile in her eyes and the corners of her mouth. He grinned, gladly.

'I mean, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't _surprised_,' he continued, happily, 'but I've known stranger couples…'

'We're not a couple,' Tasha replied, quickly.

'Oh, yes,' Riker replied, as casually as he could muster, 'of course. It's "complicated".' The concept of Data being in a Complicated Relationship tickled him enough for him to have to bite down a giggle.

Tasha narrowed her eyes at him, semi-seriously. 'See, _that's_ why I wanted us to keep it quiet.'

Riker straightened out his face as well as he could. 'I apologise. Everything you said at the hearing will, of course, be treated with the strictest confidence.'

'Well, good.'

'We needn't discuss the matter ever again, if you don't want to…'

'I _don't_ want to.'

'OK.' There was a brief pause. Still, Riker fought the urge to beam at her. 'No one'll judge you, you know. He's a perfectly nice…'

'Clearly,' interjected Tasha, archly, 'I've fallen into some sort of Parallel Dimension where "I don't want to talk about it" means the opposite of what it's supposed to.'

Riker shrugged genially, holding one hand up in the air in apology while miming zipping his lips shut with the other. Still, Tasha glared at him; genuine annoyance sharpening her superficial playfulness.

'You think it's sweet, don't you?'

Riker shook his head, his lips still clamped shut by his invisible zip.

'Stop thinking it's sweet! It's not sweet!' Tasha paused, with a frown. 'Tell truth, Will, it's a mess.'

Riker drew breath to reply, just as the Turbolift came to a halt.

'And that,' added Tasha, stepping towards the doors as they opened, 'really is the very last I want to say on the subject. Understood?'

'Understood.' Riker followed her out onto the Bridge, watching her breeze past Data on her way to her station. The couple - or whatever-it-was-that-they-were – practically brushed one another as the android marked the change of shifts by moving from the Captain's chair to his usual post, but breathed not a word of greeting to one another; barely so much as made eye contact, save for a fleeting moment of acknowledgement that Riker would never have noticed had he not been looking for it. Tasha looked back at Riker, deliberately. He gave her a brief nod.

_Understood._

-x-

There were plenty of things that Tasha Yar was very good at. Waiting, if she was to be perfectly honest with herself, was not one of them.

Her shift had ended almost two hours ago. Data, with whom she had desperately needed to have a Serious Discussion ever since he had hurried off, shoes in hand, for the start of his shift on the Bridge the night before, was still hard at work in Engineering, and wasn't showing any signs of coming off duty at any time soon. Such were the perils of becoming personally involved with somebody who never fatigued. She had tried getting some combat practice in on the Holodeck, but her lack of focus had caused her to be thrown to the floor one too many times for her liking, and she'd given up before it had come to shuffling shame-faced to Pulaski with a dislocation or a fracture. An inability to concentrate had made studying equally impossible. Her feeling of dread about the upcoming conversation had dulled her hunger, so she couldn't even eat to pass the time. She certainly couldn't sleep; she was jangling with anxious energy. In order to avoid just sitting in her quarters contemplating – since she recalled only too well where _that_ had led her the night before – she had decided to go for a jog.

The gym was deserted. She didn't ask for any music to be played, but listened only to the thump-thump-thump of her feet on the treadmill and her own fast, hard, regular breaths. She was glad to find that the repetitiveness of her movements and the sounds of her body working in time with the running machine had the effect of steadying her mind a little, and she relaxed into the rhythm of the run. After she had been running for around 20 minutes she became suddenly aware of being watched. Without slowing her pace, she glanced over her shoulder to see who it was. Deanna Troi was loitering close to the door, half-heartedly toying with a hand-weight, as though she just so happened to be thinking of a workout herself. However, Tasha knew her friend all too well. She knew that the expression on Deanna's face was one that she only ever had moments before asking somebody if there was anything on their mind.

'Come to do some late-night bicep curls?' Tasha enquired, breathlessly. 'Careful you don't break a nail.'

Troi made no reply. She merely smiled a little, and turned the small weight over in her hands.

'You're not fooling me, Deanna,' Tasha continued. 'I know why you're here.'

Still, Deanna made no response.

Tasha came to a gradual stop, then stepped off the machine, towelling the sweat from the back of her neck.

'All right. So maybe I _do_ have something on my mind. But it's private, OK? It's none of your business.'

Deanna put the hand-weight back. 'Tasha, you're incredibly distracted at the moment. I just spent all day with your guilt, your embarrassment, your regret, your anxiety and directionless anger… it's been difficult enough for _me_ to focus on my work today with all those feelings rushing around, let alone _you_…'

'Are you suggesting I'm not fit for work?'

'No. Not at all.' Deanna perched on a bench press. 'I just think it might be helpful for both of us if we have a little chat.' She paused. 'I know that you've having an affair.'

'Who've you been talking to?' Tasha snapped. 'And it's not an affair…'

'Tasha,' sighed the Counsellor, 'I wouldn't discuss this with anybody behind your back. I just know which emotional signs point towards somebody being sexually involved with a person that they know they shouldn't.' She laced her fingers together. 'I can tell that it's making you miserable, and, although your counterpart is better at keeping it from me than you are, I imagine he's feeling pretty awful about it too.'

Tasha rolled her eyes, wiping down her face with her towel. 'Don't count on it…'

Deanna leaned in towards her friend, lowering her voice conspiratorially, even though they were still alone. 'It's Worf, isn't it?'

Tasha giggled a little into her towel. 'That big lug?'

Deanna raised her eyebrows. 'It's not…?'

'It'd be like kissing my brother. Nice try, though.'

Deanna sat back a little. 'It's _somebody_ who was on the Bridge with us today. That much I was able to tell. I'd know if it was Will. Geordi wouldn't be able to hide it from me. Same goes for Wes, thankfully…'

'That you feel the need to eliminate a child from the list of people I could be involved with just does wonders for my self-image,' Tasha replied.

'Darling and Kotowska…' Deanna continued, 'well, unless you've had a recent change of sexual preference without telling me, I don't think either of them are your type…'

'Please stop, Deanna. This isn't a game. Why do you need to know? What difference does it make?'

'I just think that maybe whoever-it-is might want to talk things over with me, too.'

'I'm sure he'll let you know if he does.'

'Not if he's worried about keeping it a secret, he won't,' Deanna retorted. 'Who's left…?' She paused, counting off those she had eliminated internally, and deflated a little, sadly. 'Please, please tell me it isn't the Captain.'

Tasha couldn't help but feel a little upset by the disappointment in her friend's tone. 'Would it be so bad if it _was_ the Captain…?'

Deanna gazed back at Tasha with worried eyes. 'I can tell that this affair is inconsistent, chaotic and terribly unprofessional. Between two senior crewmembers it's serious enough for me to feel the need to intrude on what I know is a private matter, but between a Starfleet Captain and one of his senior officers…? It could cause both of you a lot of…'

'Stop fretting, Deanna. It isn't Picard.'

Deanna breathed a small sigh of relief. 'I didn't think it was in keeping with him,' she explained, 'but I really don't see who else it could be once you've…'

Tasha watched her friend grind to a stop as she realised who she'd missed. Deanna's eyes widened into dark circles of surprise.

'No.'

'Once you've eliminated the impossible,' Tasha quoted, quietly, 'whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'

'No!'

'I'm afraid so.'

'I…' Deanna blinked a couple of times to herself. 'I didn't even realise that he _did_…'

'Take it from me; he does. With gusto.'

'That's why you were so distressed about the trial,' Deanna breathed.

'I was distressed about the trial because it was wrong,' Tasha replied. 'And, I'll admit, it reminded me more than a little of The Bad Old Days back on Turkana IV.' Tasha slung her towel around her neck, and leaned her back against the gym wall. 'I care about him the way we all care about him. We're not lovers, Deanna. I'm not sure that I'm any more capable of succumbing to romantic love than he is, if truth be told.'

'You must find that very reassuring,' Deanna replied, softly.

'Don't twist my words, Deanna,' Tasha sighed. 'It's not as if I deliberately sought out a man who couldn't love me so I could feel safe…'

'…I never said that you did…'

'We made a mistake,' Tasha continued. 'When he showed up at my quarters last night, I… I had convinced myself that he was never coming back, and I was just so relieved… I just… it's like my brain went on vacation leaving my hormones in charge…'

Deanna just gazed up at her, sympathetically.

'Well, I guess it wasn't just relief,' added Tasha, 'I think, maybe, with the trial and all I kinda saw myself in him – objectified, trying to keep a grasp of dignity, fighting to survive – I felt a kinship. Maybe I just wanted to feel it a little deeper.'

Tasha paused. Still, Deanna just watched her.

'It was more than that,' Tasha admitted, eventually. 'It's something that's been on my mind, on and off, for a long time now. Not an attraction, so much as a… a memory of attraction.' She paused, again. 'The first time was a year ago. The Tsiokolvski Virus.'

Deanna blinked. 'A whole _year_?'

'You remember what it was like,' Tasha replied. 'To me, it was as if… as if all these walls came tumbling down. I forgot who I was, just for a few hours. I lost myself. And it was… terrifying.'

'I know how much you rely on your defences.'

'The most truly terrifying part about it, though…?' added Tasha, dropping her voice to little more than a whisper, 'I enjoyed it. I _really_ enjoyed it. And I'm not just talking about the general sensations of losing inhibitions here, I mean, the actual… I mean, it was… because, he doesn't…' She trailed off with a cough, and tried starting again. 'That's the problem. It's all very well writing something off as a stupid mistake, but when you still keep finding yourself reliving it a whole year after… that's not right.'

'It's perfectly normal to reminisce about old lovers, Tasha. And a particularly enjoyable sexual encounter can stay with you for a very long time.'

'But I didn't just think about it, Deanna. I went back for more.'

'You're acting as if he had no responsibility in the matter. It was his decision as well as yours.'

'I knew that he wouldn't say "no",' Tasha admitted, softly. 'I knew that from before. Whether it's his programming or his manners… I knew he was a sure thing. I could do it again, if I wanted - easy. And again, and again… He has no desires, no demands, physical or emotional. And you were right – I _do_ find that comforting, in a way… I mean, if he has no feelings to hurt, than what harm can be done…?'

'If that's the case,' Deanna replied, 'then why do you feel so terrible about it?'

Tasha paused for a moment. 'Because I know it's the wrong thing to do. Picking someone up and tossing them aside over and over… just because he makes it easy for me to do so, it doesn't mean that I should.'

'So then, what are your options?' Deanna asked. 'Can you see yourself attempting a romantic relationship with him?'

Tasha snorted a short, sad laugh. 'I can't see that working, can you?'

'No,' Deanna agreed. 'You are two people who call for very specific levels of attention, and right now I don't think either of you is able to provide the other with that.'

'You don't think I've got the patience that he'd require.'

Deanna gave her friend a slight shrug of the head. 'And I know he doesn't have the passion or understanding that you'd need.'

'I agree,' Tasha replied, objectively and unhurt.

'So then…?' Deanna prompted.

'It's been obvious from the start,' Tasha sighed. 'Nip it in the bud, and for good, this time.' The door to the gym opened again, and a trio that Tasha recognised as junior Medical staff stepped in, chatting amongst themselves and heading towards the Yoga mats. Tasha stuffed her towel under her arm and pushed herself away from the wall. Following her cue to leave, Deanna lifted herself primly off the weight machine.

'I'm glad we talked,' added Tasha, under her breath.

'Really? It doesn't seem to have alleviated your anxiety.'

Tasha shrugged slightly. 'Still have to have the talk with him, haven't I? It was bad enough trying and failing to do it the first time; I felt like I was kicking a puppy in the face. This is going to be awful. Just awful.'

-x-

She didn't have to wait much longer. By the time she reached her quarters, Data was already at her door.

'Good evening, Tasha,' he greeted her as she approached. 'I have just under an hour to spare before I am due again on the Bridge. I was wondering, if you were not planning on sleeping yet, whether we might be able to discuss the events of yesterday evening, and the ramifications of…'

'You'd better come in,' Tasha interrupted, sweeping past him into her quarters.

She didn't sit as she waited for him to follow her inside, nor did she indicate for him to take a seat once the door had slid closed behind him. She folded her arms, nervously.

'Deanna knows.'

Data raised his eyebrows. 'About us…?'

'No, Data. About the mystery behind the abandonment of the Marie Celeste.'

His face crumpled in confusion. She stopped herself, reminding herself that his difficulty with irony made the use of sarcasm in conversation with him both pointless and unfair.

'Of course, about us. I haven't been very good at keeping my emotions in check lately, and… let's just say, sometimes I wish you weren't the only person round here with an "off" switch.'

'It must be difficult to keep such emotive issues from an Empath,' Data reasoned. 'We were probably fortunate for our previous tryst to have remained undiscovered for so long.' He paused. 'Commander Riker and the Captain are, of course, also aware of the sexual nature of our relationship, following your testimony at the hearing. Perhaps we should inform our other close acquaintances. It seems unfair that Picard, Riker and Troi should have knowledge of our relationship but Geordi, for example, should not…'

'We're not going start going around telling everybody,' Tasha replied, sharply. 'I don't want people to think we're something…' she sighed, softening. '…something that we're not.'

'You believe that the others would misinterpret the nature of our relationship?'

'Data, I don't think even _we_ have a true understanding of our relationship.' She paused, watching him. 'I don't want to have an amorous relationship with you.'

'That is probably most wise,' Data nodded, flatly.

'And I don't want to have sex with you any more.'

'That is also understandable. If I may be candid, your sexual approaches prior to, and following the trial came as some surprise to me. I am still unsure as to your reasoning.'

'Join the club, Data, we've got badges.'

'"Badges"?'

'Turn of phrase.' Tasha paused again. 'Data, I don't partake in sexual intimacy very often at all, these days. Since the Tsiokolvski Virus, I've turned down some very lovely young men on Rubicun III and did an admirable job, if I may say so myself, of resisting Lutan's charms. But last night, I desperately wanted to recapture what we had last year, and I still don't really understand why.'

'Perhaps you wished for sexual congress with a partner with whom you were already familiar.'

Tasha shook her head. 'It wasn't anything that rational. I lost control, Data. I don't want to lose that control again.'

Data pondered what she had said for a moment. 'Do you wish for us to continue once more as if "it never happened"?'

'Try to ignore it again?' Tasha managed a small smile. 'That didn't exactly work last time, did it?' Her face fell again. 'And I really don't want to go back to the way things were back then. The awkwardness, avoiding you all the time… I'd miss you.'

There was a momentary silence, in which Tasha almost expected Data to reply that he would miss her too; but of course, he didn't.

'Dammit,' she sighed. 'We were doing so well. We were becoming good friends, and I had to go and ruin it.'

'I am equally responsible for any damage that this latest experience has caused to our friendship.'

'Are you, now?' Tasha murmured, unconvinced.

'On your Birthday,' Data continued, 'you told me that you saw Wonderland as a fresh start for us. Perhaps that is the point in our relationship to which we should return. Those at the trial may now have knowledge of its existence, but I do not believe that that makes it any less private.'

'Or any less special,' added Tasha, quietly. 'Do you think, Data? Do you think we could go back to being like that again? Not ignoring what we did, but acknowledging it – using it. Learning from it. I think I'd like that.'

Data nodded. 'Very well. Perhaps we can schedule a session on the Holodeck at some point tomorrow.'

Tasha was about to answer that that sounded wonderful when another idea struck her. 'You've still got just under an hour free, right?'

'I am due on the Bridge in forty-eight minutes.'

'Well, that's enough time for a quick visit, isn't it?'

'You wish to go now?'

'Sure. Why not?'

Data pondered her question, momentarily. 'I have no objections to that. Let us go.'

'Great.' She took a couple of steps towards her door, then stopped, and turned to him again. 'Thank you, by the way. Thank you for making this so much easier than I thought it was going to be.'

Data seemed to be a little perplexed by her statement, but proffered her a courteous 'you are most welcome' anyway.

She turned again, then stopped again. 'Data?'

'Yes?'

'You don't feel… used, at all?'

'I do not feel anything.'

'Right,' she nodded. 'Of course.' And then, wondering why his last statement had caused her to feel more depressed than relieved, she stepped back out into the corridor, closely followed by her friend.

Just her friend, and nothing more.


	6. Chapter 6

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

On The Ferris Wheel

-x-

Slowly, gracefully, the Ferris Wheel revolved to carry their exposed little car up to the summit, where it ground to a silent stop. The happy noises of Wonderland well beneath them now, the only close sound was the steady creak-creak-creak of their car as it swung gently on its pivots, suspended up there in the balmy evening air. Tasha looked up at the darkening sky for a moment, watching as Venus shone away like a bright evening star, next to a palely illuminated Luna. Neither, she reminded herself, was as beautiful on closer inspection as they appeared to be from Earth's distance. But then, she added silently to herself, it wasn't as though it was a real satellite moon and neighbouring planet she was gazing dreamily at in the first place. She was blinking up at cleverly arranged pixels of light. That was all.

Still. An escape was an escape.

'Thank you,' she breathed.

'For what are you thanking me?' asked the other occupant of the car.

'For making me take a break.'

'It was on Counsellor Troi's suggestion that you were removed from your studies. It is she who you should thank.'

Tasha didn't reply. She breathed in the air. It still had that fairground smell, but it was fresher – cooler – up here.

'Is this proving an adequate distraction from your upcoming evaluation?'

Tasha shot Data a small, sideways look. 'It _was_, before you reminded me about it.'

Data drew breath to speak, then evidently thought better of it and closed his mouth again. 'I shall refrain from mentioning it any further.'

'Thanks.'

Creak.

Creak.

Creak.

Tasha leaned forward a little, causing their car to tip downwards as she did so.

'Pretty.'

She could see it all from up here – the fairground stretching along a single, straight path in front of her, and to the sides, the later additions – the beach, the paddock and the still half-finished mountain range, in the distance.

'I can see my house from up here…'

'Your house…? You do not have a house.'

'Figure of speech, Data.'

'Would you like a house?'

Tasha shrugged. 'You can make me a house, I guess.' She pointed over to a section of the beach where a cliff overlooked a small, secluded cove. 'That looks like a nice spot.'

Data nodded in agreement. 'I shall see to it once I have completed the mountains.'

Tasha grinned. 'With a swimming pool?'

'Certainly.' Data paused. 'Although I am afraid I would not be able to accompany you on any swims. Unless you wished for me to offer you encouragement from the side of the pool. Or from the bottom.'

Tasha giggled a little and turned to face the android sitting neatly in the seat next to her, his face set in still lines as neutral as ever.

'Data,' she proudly breathed, 'did you just crack a joke?'

His eyes lit up, hopefully. 'Did I?'

'I think so.' Tasha clasped her hands behind her head, still surveying her little world from on high. 'Guess you're really on fire this week.' She didn't even have to look at Data to gauge his expression. 'Another figure of speech,' she added, hastily. 'I mean to say, you've been doing really well the past few days. Creatively speaking.'

'You have been enjoying my creative endeavours?'

Tasha glanced back at him again. For a moment the earnestness of his expression urged her to fabricate some artistic critique for him – to repeat the sentiments she'd heard her more artistically gifted colleagues speak to and about him recently – in order to satisfy that open, expectant gaze. She took a moment to weigh up the likelihood of his catching her out, and whether another critical congratulation was actually what he wanted to hear, and not just what she supposed he wanted to hear. She decided to opt for the honest answer.

'Honestly? I really don't know very much about art, and I'll admit, I kinda lost concentration during your last recital.'

Data responded with a soft, flat 'oh', neither hurt nor annoyed.

'But,' she added, 'I liked that horsie painting you did the other day.'

Data screwed up his face slightly. '"Horsie"?'

'The monochrome one…?'

Data's expression didn't change. 'That was intended to be an Abstract.'

'Oh!' Tasha folded her hands in her lap, a little embarrassed. 'I thought it was supposed to be a horse.'

'Ah.' Unintentionally, as far as Tasha could tell, Data mirrored her posture - his hands neatly on his lap, a faint, awkward discomfort on his features. There was a brief lull in the conversation, in which the car swung gently again in mid-air.

Creak.

Creak.

'But you still _liked_ it…?' asked Data, eventually.

'I thought it was really pretty,' Tasha replied, 'in a Data-ish sort of way.' She looked down again, and a happy thought suddenly hit her. 'And I like this place, don't I?' She spread her arms out to indicate the vast Holodeck simulation below. 'I mean, this is art, isn't it? This is creative.'

'That is true.'

'And since you got back from Tau Cygna V I have to say, those mountains have been getting much more attractive. The way that the setting sun hits the snow on the top these days…? Gorgeous.' She smiled, much easier this time, inwardly overjoyed to have discovered a medium in which she could genuinely praise his recent artistic streak. Taking his vague half-smile to represent grateful pride, she continued merrily. 'We are gonna have to send you off on your own to isolated, radiation-flooded little colonies much more often if this is how it's going to inspire you.' She gave him a playful nudge. 'What else did you discover down there?'

Data didn't reply for a while. Tasha, believing his silence to mean he simply had no answer to give, went back to looking down at the scenery below.

Creak.

Creak.

Creak.

'Tasha.'

'Mmm?' she replied quietly.

'Are you very anxious about your evaluation?'

Tasha sat up and faced him. 'Of course I am. Data, I thought you said you weren't going to mention…'

She trailed off as he awkwardly rested a hand on the side of her face. Before she could ask him what the Hell he was doing, he leaned forward, bridging the short distance between them and planted a featherlight kiss on her surprised lips. For a few seconds her brain seemed incapable of processing what was going on, or how she should deal with it. She knew that it was a different action to the kiss they had shared before his trial, and certainly to the few kisses they had exchanged during sex. This was very gentle, very still – the only other contact on her body his unmoving hand on the side of her face, his lips only very slightly parted. It was almost completely chaste. Almost. Her body froze up again with that now familiar unease, and a conflict that was beginning to become all too common swelled within her. She fought back the urge to relish the kiss, to control it, harden it, open up his mouth with hers and push her tongue inside, as she knew it would be so very easy to do. And yet, for some reason that she couldn't fathom, she didn't stop him from continuing to kiss her, either.

He pulled out of the kiss as simply as he had begun it, bringing his hand back to join the other on his knees, regarding her, blankly.

She took a deep breath, swallowed, and cleared her throat a couple of times as she tried to think of a response that wasn't either idiotic or another trite recital of the same lines of discouragement she had used before on him and, during weak moments, to herself. Failing to come up with any coherent original reply, however, she opted wearily for the same tired old speech.

'Data, no,' she sighed. 'It's like I said before. This is not a romantic relationship. Even if we wanted one, which, let's face it, neither of us really do, it would be impossible for us. We made a mistake… we made a _couple_ of mistakes… but it's not fair on either of us to keep doing that. Besides,' she added, indicating to the projection around her, 'I thought that, above everything else, we were going to be like kids in this place. We were going to keep our past, our… indiscretions… out of this. I thought that was what was supposed to make it special.'

The android blinked. 'I was not aware that that kiss should be interpreted as a sexual invitation.'

'Are you _kidding_? What _did_ you intend that to be?'

'A comradely gesture, of solidarity in times of difficulty,' Data replied, seemingly bemused by her reaction. 'Your promotion rides on the upcoming evaluation which will stretch your knowledge and ingenuity to their limits, as my mission on Tau Cygna V did mine, and you are concerned that you will not succeed in…'

'Wait,' interjected Tasha. 'Is this what somebody on that colony told you?'

'There was a woman there,' Data admitted.

Tasha arched an eyebrow.

'She was… interested in me.'

'I bet she was.'

'Scientifically speaking,' Data added.

'Right,' Tasha replied, dryly. 'And Deanna Troi's fascination with chocolate ice cream is purely cerebral.'

Data frowned. 'I do not understand.'

Tasha sighed. 'And it was this woman who kissed you, was it? The way you just kissed me?'

'It was not intended as a prelude to sexual intercourse.'

'Trust me, Data. It was.'

Data shook his head. 'She told me…'

'Data, not everybody who wants to have sex with you is going to just come out and say it. Most people are a lot more subtle than the likes of Yours Truly.'

'But she said…'

'Well, she must have twisted the truth. That was _not_ a platonic peck on the cheek.'

'Oh,' Data replied, softly. 'That does go towards explaining her reactions when I returned the gesture.'

Tasha folded her arms. 'You kissed her back?'

Data nodded, watching Tasha as she sank a little further away from him, biting the inside of her lip.

'Does that upset you?'

'Why should I be upset?'

'Why, indeed?' Data responded, more bemused than ever. 'We are, as you have made plain several times, not in a monogamous relationship…'

'We're not in _any_ kind of relationship…'

'But your reaction to the discovery of a shared kiss with another woman appears to be hostile…'

'_Two_ shared kisses,' corrected Tasha.

The Ferris Wheel shuddered back to life, and with a noisy _Clunk_, began to revolve again, sending their car on a slow descent.

'I do not see how that makes any difference,' Data replied to her, slightly raising his voice to be heard over the ride's engine.

Tasha just sighed, watching as the ground came gradually approached. She _was_ annoyed, and she didn't know for the life of her why. After all, what did she expect, knowing his attitude to sex, knowing his inability to form romantic bonds, and after _she _had made it clear that the sexual ties that they had had – loose as they had been in the first place – were no more? It wasn't even as though he'd slept with this other woman. He hadn't even known what the kisses had meant. Perhaps, she mused to herself, that was the very reason she felt irked – he'd shared with this faceless, nameless woman a moment… _two_ moments… of innocent bonding, unimpeded by any of his sexuality programming. He had kissed her simply to kiss her. She wondered, glumly to herself, when the last time was that somebody had kissed her Simply Because before she recalled that it had actually been only a couple of minutes beforehand – that sweet, still moment at the top of the Ferris Wheel. Data had kissed her.

The realisation hit as they reached the halfway down point. _He_ had kissed _her._ He had instigated the kiss, without her so much as suggesting that he did so. It had been his kiss, not her kiss returned. She had no idea whether, prior to Tau Cygna V, he had ever done such a thing. She presumed not. She moved closer in to him again, and offered him a small smile, to which he responded with another look of puzzlement.

'I guess the increased creativity your mission inspired didn't stop at horsie paintings and pretty mountains,' she told him.

Still, Data frowned. 'You are being particularly cryptic this evening, Lieutenant.'

They were almost at the bottom now – the double sized attractions of Wonderland passing by their heads as they continued their descent. A mischievous idea sparkled in Tasha's mind. It was childish, sure, but then, she _was_ supposed to be a child here, wasn't she...? She shuffled closer to him still.

'You brought me here to take my mind off my studies,' Tasha added, 'I'd say that was a job pretty well accomplished. Have I thanked you for that, yet?'

'Indeed, you have.'

'But not particularly creatively,' she replied. 'Not taking a leaf out of your book, anyway.' She paused. 'Two kisses, was it? With this purely-scientifically-interested girl?'

'In total, ye…'

He didn't get to finish his sentence. She leaned in and kissed him, carefully copying his actions from earlier; a static hand on his cheek, her slightly parted mouth gentle against his, not quite platonic, yet not quite erotic, simulating that tentative, innocent first awakening that so many youngsters - normal, healthy youngsters – were supposed to enjoy. Data responded in accordance with her actions, as he always did, allowing her to kiss him in the manner she had chosen, mirroring on her lips the calm, gentle pressure that she had opted to use on him. She presumed that it was because she had initiated that kiss that he waited for her to end it rather than pushing her away.

'We had come to an agreement,' he muttered - now utterly lost - once his lips were free. 'We were no longer to have any sexual contact, but since you determined that a kiss such as that was indeed sexual… have you had a change of conviction regarding that matter?'

'I just wanted to kiss you simply to kiss you,' Tasha replied. 'And to thank you. That's all. It won't leave the Holodeck, I promise.'

Data pondered this for a moment, then nodded, seemingly satisfied with her explanation. 'Very well. Shall we…'

Clearly, it wasn't Data's day, as far as finishing sentences was concerned. He was cut off yet again as she kissed him once more – quicker this time, but still with the same level of carefully controlled frisson.

_And that_, she told herself, _makes it three to two in my favour. I win._

Tasha felt her feet touch the ground as the Ferris Wheel finally came to a full stop. She sat back in the car and patted his cheek playfully.

'That's better.'

'Have you finished thanking me?'

'Yes, Data.'

Data nodded and pulled the safety bar over their heads. 'What shall we do now?'

They stared at each other for what Tasha felt was just a split second too long for comfort. She took in a deep breath, and answered him with the first non-filthy thing that sprang to her mind.

'Rollercoaster…?'


	7. Chapter 7

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Blue Fairy Godmothers Don't Wear Sombreros

-x-

Such curious, enthralling, admirable beings, these humans. So utterly inconsistent and bewildering – so transient and all-consuming their desires and needs. So complicated.

Even the new ones.

Especially the new ones.

He had seen human infants in the first few weeks of life before, and marvelled at them, but never before had he seen somebody thrown suddenly into that tumult of Id and Ego that was mortal, biological sentience fully grown and articulate as was the man next to him now. He had gone from professing extreme hunger to suddenly claiming a loss of appetite, without touching a morsel of food, only to change his mind once more after less than a minute's sullen introspection, and was now quite cheerfully, it seemed, making short work of the second of ten large desserts in front of him. Data understood human adults to often be erratic and governed by mood, but could not recall any one making such an unrestrained show of capriciousness before. He wondered, recalling that the time had once been when the man digging his spoon deep into the bottom of the second glass was not only able to change Data's form to human in the blink of an eye, but had freely offered to do so; whether, had he accepted, Data too would have found his impulses as wildly fluctuating and impossible to fetter as this new human did.

Or, perhaps that was just Q's way. He had never been a particularly restrained being.

So engrossed was he in Q's merry gluttony that he barely noticed a chair being pulled up at their table.

'You're not going to eat all of that, are you?'

Data looked across at the speaker by his side. Evidently, Commander Yar had come off duty, although why she had chosen to drink her coffee at the same table as Q was beyond him. Apparently, Q had been most uncharitable towards her when she had followed the Captain's orders to take the former immortal to the Brig.

'Oh!' Q gave a smile that Data was certain was not meant kindly. 'The Guard Dog's back! Don't tell me that _eating_ is another imprison-able offence?'

'Commander Yar is not a dog,' Data reminded Q, quietly.

'It's OK, Data. I'll handle this…'

'Nor does she particularly _like_ canines of any description. She is not fond of the way that they smell.'

'Data. Seriously. Let it go.'

'I am merely informing Q that, while some individuals would find that the received idea of a "guard dog" being a loyal and courageous companion would lead to a favourable comparison, you, with your lower opinion of canines, would in fact, find the allusion to be rather insulting.'

Q retained his chocolate-smeared smile. 'He gets there in the end, doesn't he?'

'The insult was intentional?' Data asked. 'Perhaps you should refrain from antagonising others. You will find interaction much easier that way.'

Tasha turned to Data. 'Why are you being nice to this little weasel, Data?'

'You hear that?' Q pointed accusatorially at Tasha, while appealing to the android. '"Weasel", she calls me!'

'Yes. I heard.'

'Well, why is she allowed to insult me, but not the other way round?'

'You did insult her first,' Data reminded Q, as Tasha gave him a smug smile and stole a cherry from the top of one of the eight remaining sundaes.

Q, the last spoonful of sundae number two lodged in his mouth, leaned back in his chair, regarding them both with narrowed eyes.

'Oh,' he muttered, his mouth full of spoon, 'I think I understand what _this_ is all about.'

'What _what_ is all about?' Tasha demanded. 'What are you drivelling about?'

Q pulled the spoon free and began to dig into a third dessert. 'The reason why the two of you are in cahoots.'

'We're not in cahoots. Why should we be in cahoots?'

Q waved the spoon vaguely between Data and Tasha. 'You're dancing partners for the Ugly Tango, you filthy monkeys.'

'What?!' Tasha hissed, seemingly offended.

'What?' echoed Data, genuinely confused.

'Sailing the Milky Way,' added Q, as if somehow clarifying matters, 'White-water Spelunking; Performing The Forbidden Heimlich Manoeuvre; Bed Wrestling…'

'I assume that you are speaking in euphemisms for something,' Data frowned. 'What that is, however, I cannot ascertain.'

'…Building The Beast With The Binary Back…'

'He's talking about sex, Data,' Tasha muttered through gritted teeth.

'Really?' Data raised his eyebrows. 'I have never heard any of those idioms used to describe the sexual act before. They must be very specific…'

'He's making them up,' Tasha retorted, before adding, deliberately to Q; 'he's making it all up.'

Q scoffed. 'Please. He's slipping you the old Vanilla Lollipop, all right. Don't try to deny it.'

'Commander Yar and I are not in a sexual relationship,' Data told the increasingly chocolaty human. 'We are friends.'

'Liar. You're planting your scarecrow in her secret barley field.'

'I must request that you desist with these accusations,' Data added. 'Not only are they untrue, but any rumour ensuing from them could prove harmful to Tasha's relationship with Nurse DiMaggio.'

'Now there's a Nurse involved?' Q beamed. 'This is getting more deliciously sordid by the second.'

'Well, this Nurse happens to be a six foot three Jujitsu enthusiast,' Tasha informed Q archly, 'who'd kick your sorry behind from here to Betelgeuse if he caught you talking about me that way.'

Q looked about the bar, craning his neck around behind himself. 'Is this Nurse here, then?'

'If he was, I'd be sitting with him.'

'Excellent,' grinned Q. 'Then there's no reason for you not to confess that you're Worshipping at the Velvet Temple with Laughing Boy here.'

Tasha put her fingers to her forehead. 'Will you please just stop it?'

'Not until you admit that you two are Riding the Midnight Meat Train to Semolina Central…'

'That's disgusting!'

Q leaned in to them both. 'Oh, it _is _disgusting. It's foul and depraved…'

'Hey,' Tasha hissed, 'I'm _not_ depraved…'

'I wasn't talking about you,' Q replied with a dismissive wave of his spoon. 'It's completely understandable with you. You're human. You can't help yourself. You see,' he added to Data with a conspiratorial air, 'if there's one thing I've learned about these pathetic apes from these last few miserable hours residing in this sack of meat, it's that they think about sex literally all the time. Constantly! They're obsessed! I'm thinking about it right now, as a matter of fact. So's our Little Ray Of Sunshine here, I'd wager. In fact, I'm fairly certain that in this whole room… actually, no – this entire _ship_, the only member of this gallery of the great and the good of mortal existence who is _not_ thinking about that tediously basic act of inserting part A into part B that you people laughably refer to as "making love" at this very moment in time, Data, is you.'

'I find that hard to believe.'

'It's the truth! And, while twanging elastic with a man made of plastic won't fulfil the original biological need that has programmed all these walking DNA Conduits to concern themselves with rutting away at one another every moment of their adult lives, it scratches that constant, nagging itch at least, isn't that right, Natasha?' Q turned his attention back to Tasha, who was staring furiously down at her coffee cup. 'And, I mean, look at him!' He reached over the table and pinched Data's cheek. 'Look at his little Chuchy-face! Why, in the half-light of a candlelit boudoir you could almost believe it was the real thing. I bet he doesn't even have to come up for air, does he?'

Tasha buried her forehead in her hand as Data batted Q's pinching fingers away from his face.

'So,' Q continued, blithely, 'I'm not blaming you, Commander Yar. It's in your nature – you're only human.' He turned again to Data. '_You_, on the other hand… does your perversion know no bounds?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'You don't get the urge, you don't get the itch… and yet, you still scratch. Why?'

'My programming…' began Data, before coming to an abrupt stop. He took a moment to consider what he was saying, and to whom. At Data's side, Tasha - still cradling her forehead - had turned a little pink. Whether it was outrage or humiliation that flushed her skin, Data could not determine, but he could tell that Q's inquisition was causing her considerable emotional discomfort. While Data normally had no qualms over speaking candidly about his sexuality programming, he concluded that, since Q was convinced that he and Tasha were having an affair, to make comment about his own sexuality during this particular conversation would surely implicate her involvement to Q. Indeed, since Tasha had been the only person with whom he had been sexually active for some years now, and since his relationship with her was far more complex than any of his previous sexual encounters, it would be impossible for him to refer to his sexuality as it stood now without taking their indiscretions into account. Even if he did not have Tasha's embarrassment to consider, he believed that it would be unwise for Q to find out about… no… it was less reasoned than that. He did not _want_ Q to know about what had happened between him and Tasha. That was what it was. Strange. He did not wish to tell Q anything about his sexual functions, or the motivations that drove him to accept offers of sexual intimacy. He had no issues with helping the new human to adapt to his own life, or to share with him what observations he had made about human society, but to discuss sex with Q…? For some reason, the concept did not appeal in the slightest. If he had to ascribe a feeling to it, he would have to say that it made him… Uncomfortable.

'I do not believe that that is any of your concern,' he replied after his brief silence.

'Boring!' Q proclaimed, loudly. 'And the both of you _still_ haven't owned up to grinding gears on the hairy highway…'

Tasha got to her feet, suddenly. 'That's it, I'm leaving.'

'So soon?'

'At least make sure he eats those ice creams a little faster, Data,' Tasha continued. 'They'll melt at this rate.'

'Can't I eat them melted?' Q asked, picking at his third sundae.

'No,' Tasha replied quickly. 'It'll make you real sick, and I'll be damned if we're clearing up _that_ mess.'

Data opened his mouth to state that he had never before heard of a human becoming ill in that way, but Tasha stopped him with a pat on the shoulder and a quick wink.

'Trust me,' she added to Q, before shooting Data another meaningful glance and turning to walk away.

Data closed his mouth again and watched Q, who had already stuffed half of his third dessert into his mouth and had the glass to his lips, trying to scrape in more.

'Well, why didn't anybody say so before?' he mumbled, with his mouth full. He swallowed deeply, took a few more large spoonfuls from the fourth sundae and then stopped abruptly.

'Q?' Data frowned as Q's face creased with agony. 'Are you all right?'

'Ow!' Q cried, spitting chocolate and whipped cream. He clutched at his head in pain. 'Ow owetty-ow with a side order of for-the-love-of-mercy-I'm-_dying_-here!'

Data got to his feet. 'Are you hurt?'

'Of course I'm hurt, you motorised moron! I'm turning to ice! All the blood in my skull is turning to a frozen jelly…'

'He's got Brainfreeze,' called Guinan from her vantage point at the bar.

'_Brainfreeze?_' panicked Q. 'Is it treatable?'

Guinan shook her head with a smile.

'But it _hurts!_'

'Doesn't it, though?' added Tasha, still watching from the door. 'Extremes of temperature'll do that to a human.'

'You did this!' Q pointed furiously at Tasha. 'This is all because I turned you into a Guard-Dog-Popsicle all those years ago, isn't it? What have you done to me?'

'You have a temporary headache,' explained Data, 'brought about from consuming a large quantity of cold food too fast. Try to relax. The pain will pass.'

Q took a deep breath, rubbing his temples and continuing to glare at Tasha as she turned and left. 'Touché, Commander Yar,' he growled. 'Tou-ch_é_.'

-x-

Tasha breathed a sigh of relief as she and Data stepped into the Turbolift together.

'I think we got away with that pretty lightly.'

'Intercepting the Calamarain's attack did considerable damage to my systems,' replied Data with a slight frown. 'It took several hours to correct – the android equivalent of a serious, life-threatening injury. I would not describe that as "getting away lightly".'

'I'm not talking about the Calamarain,' Tasha responded, 'I'm talking about Q.'

'You believe that he would take revenge on you for tricking him in Ten-Forward?'

'No, I think he'd bestow rewards on _you_ for saving his life. At least, he would if he wasn't such an ungrateful ass.'

'I was not anticipating a reward,' Data told her. 'Are you implying that I should be offended that he has overlooked my helping him now that he has been returned to the Continuum?'

'I think you should thank your lucky stars,' Tasha replied. 'The last thing you want to live with is Q showering his tokens of gratitude upon you.' She paused. 'I mean, you know what he'd be most likely to do, don't you?'

'Make me human with a snap of his fingers,' concluded Data, flatly. 'I should not appreciate that.'

'Don't blame you. I don't think anybody in their right minds have appreciated Q's little "presents" as yet…'

The Turbolift came to an abrupt halt, cutting Tasha off mid-sentence. She swapped a concerned glance with Data, tapping her Comms badge as the android attempted to open the lift doors. Her badge failed to make any contact with the Bridge. More troubling yet was that the doors, which Data would normally have easily opened, remained shut fast. She tried her Comms badge once again, and still heard nothing.

That was it… she heard nothing. Absolutely nothing. Although the hushed, steady hum of the ship was only ever a barely noticeable white noise to her, she was always vaguely aware of its comforting whisper… but not now. It was gone. It was as though the entire ship had just stopped. As if… as if _time_ had stopped.

Data glanced at her again, his expression echoing her own thoughts.

'Oh dear.'

'Ha-HA!' Timespace stretched ever so slightly to allow Q and a pair of maracas to materialise in the lift with them. 'Nobody expects the Ninja Mariachi!' He struck a victorious pose, shaking his maracas gleefully as he burst into tuneless song. '_Say, have you seen a Carioca? It's not a Foxtrot or a Polka…_'

'Why are you here, Q?'

Q smiled coquettishly at Data. 'Now, is that really any question to ask your brand spanking new Blue Fairy Godmother?'

'Blue Fairy Godmothers,' stated Tasha, archly, 'don't wear Sombreros.'

'If I wanted style advice from somebody who wears a mustard jumpsuit day in, day out,' replied Q, happily, 'I would ask for it.' And then, before either Data or Tasha could get another word in edgeways, he began to sing again. '_It has a little bit of new rhythm, a blue rhythm that sighs…_'

'If you were planning on awarding me any sort of gift,' interrupted Data, 'I must ask that you refrain…'

'Oh, relax. I'm not going to change you into anything. I know you're concerned because surely the most logical reward for a human life would be a human life returned, but you've already made your position on that matter very plain, and I'm not going to go to all that trouble of turning those marvellous metal insides of yours into squishy meat just for you to get all uppity with me about it. No, I was thinking something small… something temporary… just a token of my appreciation, nothing more.'

'It is not necessary.'

'Would you _really_,' asked Q, leaning in to the android, 'want me to be forever indebted to you?'

Tasha was sure that she saw Data gulp a little. '_Forever_…?'

Q shrugged. 'Or until I got bored. Whichever would come first.'

'No,' replied Data, 'I would not want that.'

'Then it's settled,' beamed Q, and with a sotto voce 'Cha-cha-cha,' began singing once more. '_It has a meter that is tricky… a little wicked wacky-wicky…_'

Tasha tried putting her fingers over her ears as a sign of her displeasure at Q's deliberate, she suspected, tunelessness. 'Do we really need to be stuck in here with you for all of this?'

'Oh absolutely, my little icicle,' responded Q. 'Be grateful that I didn't decide to put my gesture of goodwill into action when I thought of it up on the Bridge. No, I decided that this was the sort of present that would be best for you shameful little creatures to enjoy in relative privacy.'

Tasha frowned. This sounded ominous. She shot a worried glance at Data, who was already trying the doors again.

'Your dogged emulation of these people's grotesque little habits,' announced Q to Data, 'no matter how ridiculous or degrading, has always been a source of much intrigue and, I have to admit, amusement, to me. You don't even understand the urges that drive them to the behaviour that you ape. You can't even give me a solid, sensible reason why you do it, can you? And I think that's pretty sad. So, here's my gift to you; I'm going to show you what all the fuss is about.'

'What?' Tasha could feel her palms growing sweaty. She really, really hoped that Q didn't mean what she thought he did.

'_And when you dance it with a new love_,' warbled Q, '_there's a true love in her eye…_'

'Why have you involved Commander Yar? This has nothing to do with her.'

'She's your partner in crime, isn't she?' shrugged Q. 'I can't very much have you acting out such impulses alone now, can I?'

'I have a boyfriend…' managed Tasha.

'She has no wish to engage any more in sexual intercourse with me…'

'"Any more"!' Q crowed, victoriously. 'So I was right about you two!'

'You have no right…'

'And she had no right to Brainfreeze me,' Q retorted. 'What goes around…'

'If you are suggesting that you will somehow manipulate me into forcing her…'

'No one's forcing,' soothed Q, 'no one's manipulating. You'll still be in control. Nevertheless…' he slid a smirk from Data to Tasha. 'I think it may be best if I turn my back for a while anyway. Because there's _something_ here…' he gestured between the pair, 'and I'm certain that it's not just a similar taste in ghastly uniforms and ship's-issue haircuts. Hell's Bells, I'll even serenade you.'

'Please don't…' began Tasha, but Q had already turned his back on them, and quickly resumed in his singing.

'_You dreeeeeam! Of a new Caaaariocaaaa! Its theeeeeme! Is a kiss… and a siiiiiigh! You dreeeeeam! Of a new Carrrrrrio-ho-ho-ca…_' He glanced back over his shoulder briefly to address the android. 'Has it kicked in yet? That urge? That ache? Dreadful, isn't it?' He turned away again and went back once more to his strangulated song. '_When music and lights are gone, and we say goodbyeeeeeee!_'

Tasha watched Data as he stood aloof and silent, but with what appeared to be a growing discomfort. He rubbed his face, then his palms, then his face again as though hot and agitated. He turned his head to make eye contact with her momentarily, but looked away again swiftly, stuffing the crook of his thumb between his teeth.

'Stop it, Q,' she ordered, but the mischievous immortal paid no heed.

'_Two heads together, they say are better than one…_'

'Data…?'

Data made a little noise that was half cough, half grunt of struggling restraint.

'You're gonna bite your thumb off at the knuckle at this rate.

Data mumbled a couple of unintelligible syllables.

'Hey,' she said, softly, laying a hand on his shoulder.

'_Two heads together, that's how the dance is begun…_'

He looked back again, wearing an expression she had never so much as imagined she'd ever see on his features. It was desire - a very particular expression of desire with which she wasn't familiar. There was no predatory dominance in his demeanour, no warm, sensual confidence, either. She could only remember one person ever looking at her like that before; a boy, long ago – a drunken, desperate, anxious virgin, practically fit to burst, his eyes full of hunger and fear... That was what Data looked like as he nervously flitted oddly dilated pupils over her body and tried to pretend it was just a slow blink, breathing shallow sips of air, his fingertips worrying over one another.

She thought back to the last time _her_ libido had overridden her senses of reason and decorum, that evening he had showed up after his trial. In spite of everything, she actually found herself smiling wistfully at the memory. That overriding impulse, when it came… perhaps it did cause you to do immeasurably stupid things, but Hell – it made you feel so alive, didn't it? And now he was feeling it too, for the first time… for, she presumed, the only time. And it was for her. He was feeling it for _her_.

'_Two arms around you and lips…_'

It wasn't that she didn't consider Rocco. She _did_. She thought about sweet, strong, generous, faithful Rocco DiMaggio, and his broad chest, and his large, warm hands, and how very much he cared for her, and how very immoral it was to abuse his trust in her… but Q was right. Man, she hated it when Q was right. There was something there between her and Data. Q had cast no spell over her, but he may as well have. The concept of that pillar of alabaster indifference being overcome with such a desperate want; and a want specifically for her, at that… it was thrilling. It made her feel special - as if his need for her was part of something far grander and more important than her relationship with DiMaggio. After all, she told herself, they were outside of the normal constrains of time and space now – it couldn't be infidelity if they weren't properly cemented in reality now, could it…?

'_That's why I'm yours and you are mine…_'

'It's OK,' she murmured, leaning closer into him. 'It's OK…'

'_And you are miiiiiiinnnne!_'

She placed a hand on the side of his face, just as he had done on the Ferris Wheel. Evidently, that was the signal he had needed that he indeed had Tasha's consent to indulge the magically produced sensations of desire. Either that, or that physical contact, reminding him of their tantalising kisses on the holodeck, had simply overcome his self- restraint. Whatever the reason, she found herself suddenly, literally swept off her feet as with one hand he pulled her head hard in to his, meeting her lips in a ferocious kiss, and with the other hand, hoisted her up off the ground – an unnecessary action, since she was tall enough to easily reach his mouth with hers. Not that she stopped to think about that at the time. Automatically, she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, and returned the devouring kiss.

Still Q sang dissonantly, his back steadfastly turned, although a certain air of a greater-than-usual smugness exuding from him gave Tasha no doubt that he was thoroughly aware of what was going on behind him. She was pretty sure that she should have been bothered by that. Only, she wasn't.

'_Now that you've done the Carioca,_'

With a force much greater than that she was used to him using on her, but still carefully calculated so as not to hurt her, Data slammed Tasha, unprotesting, against the wall of the Turbolift.

'_You'll never care to do the Polka,_'

With her wedged between his body and the wall, and with her legs tightly encircling his hips, Data pulled her hands away from his hair and pinned them against the wall as his hard, biting kisses journeyed from her lips to the side of her neck.

'_And then you'll realise the Blue Hula and Bamboola are through…_'

Finding herself beginning to slip down the wall, she was forced to untwine her legs from around him and put her feet back on the floor. They pressed close together now, groin to groin, and she could feel through their uniforms the extent to which the sudden gift of desire had already affected the android as he ran teeth and tongue over the goose-bumped skin beneath her ear.

'_Tomorrow morning you'll discover,_'

She turned her head to try to reciprocate with a kiss on his temple, but he tugged her hair back, forcing her to face straight upward. He stopped kissing for a moment and looked at her, that overwhelmed, anxious expression still his eye, one hand still grasping at her short hair, the other making a brief attempt to explore her body before making a happy base camp at her left breast.

'_You're just a Carioca lover,_'

She watched him as he closed his eyes and curled a tongue tip gently over her unmoving, parted lips. She knew what _that_ was an allusion to. She closed her own eyes, remembering, anticipating… she felt him repeat the action on her chin, the valley of her throat…

'_And when you dance it with each new love, there'll be a true love just for you…_'

His hand left her hair and she felt his weight shift as his head moved down the front of her body. Suddenly, he stopped, his forehead pushed against the bottom of her ribcage, his fists bunched tight at her sides, just above her hips.

'_You dream! Of the new Carrriocaaaaa!'_

'That is sufficient,' Data murmured through gritted teeth, still half-crouched in front of her.

'_Its theeeeeeeeme! Is a kiss…_'

'That is sufficient,' the android repeated, louder.

'What?' Q turned round to face the pair, peevishly. 'Already? You haven't even started yet!'

'I do not wish for this,' Data replied, still, it seemed, unable to move from his awkward position. 'Commander Yar does not wish for this.'

'How are you so sure?' snapped Q. 'Have you asked her? She seemed to be enjoying it to me.'

Q offered Tasha a quick smirk. It was like a bucket of cold water to her. She cast down her eyes, staring intently at an empty spot of floor a few feet away. What had she been thinking…? Data? _Again_?! As if that hadn't caused enough problems already. And to so much as consider doing what they'd been doing… what they'd been _about_ to do… in the presence of Q? And what about Rocco…? It was all wrong.

Data managed to push himself free of Tasha's body and stood awkwardly upright to address Q. 'It is not right. It is… unnatural.'

'_You_ are unnatural, my dear little domestic appliance.'

'I regret,' continued Data, with difficulty, 'that I must refuse your gift.'

Q cocked his head. 'Oh come now, Data. Don't be like that. Your first sensations of schoolboy lust? Alone with the object of those desires, and discovering that she's only too willing to let you act on them with her? That's too good an opportunity to pass up.'

'Your interference in our private affairs is unacceptable. Please remove these sensations.'

'You're never going to feel this way ever again,' reminded Q, 'you realise that, don't you?'

'I am aware of that. I have made my decision.'

Q opened his mouth to reply.

'Put him back the way he was,' ordered Tasha, quietly, 'and then leave us alone.'

Q huffed with a grimace. 'Wretched ingrates.'

In the blink of an eye, he was gone. The Turbolift - or, as Tasha presumed was the more accurate description, the Universe all around the Turbolift - began to thrum back into life again. Data didn't even so much as sigh with relief. He merely straightened out, and steadied his expression into one that was once again devoid of emotion; once again steadfastly inscrutable, once again familiarly, comfortingly, yet infuriatingly blank.

There was an uncomfortable, pregnant pause.

'I cannot apologise enough for my conduct,' he announced, at length.

'We were both out of control,' Tasha replied, keeping her eye on the spot on the floor she'd been concentrating on earlier.

Data shrugged his head slightly in agreement. 'However, it was I who initiated the proceedings on this occasion.'

'Q initiated it,' answered Tasha, flatly.

'Be that as it may,' Data retorted, 'I am prepared to take full responsibility for what has just taken place, if you were considering informing Nurse DiMaggio of…'

'We're not going to tell Rocco anything,' Tasha told him. 'We're not…'

'…going to tell anybody,' Data completed for her.

She nodded, stiffly. 'You know the drill by now.'

She paused, and wondered whether to explain to Data that she wasn't referring to an actual "drill", but instead of casting Tasha a bewildered look, the android nodded to himself in apparent comprehension.

'Indeed I do.' He briefly paused, and took a deep breath in and out – an action that could almost be interpreted as a resigned sigh. 'This is a conversation which we have had several times before. We do seem to be finding ourselves in this situation with a considerable regularity, do we not?'

She folded her arms, shooting him a sideways glance. Was that a _dig_? 'Hey. You started it this time.'

'Did we not just conclude that it was Q who "started it this time"?'

'Quite,' replied Tasha.

The Turbolift slid to a stop, allowing a young family to get in. It was not the deck that Tasha needed, but she felt compelled to get out anyway.

'I'll see you later,' she muttered curtly to the android as she hurried away from the Turbolift.

'Please give my best wishes to Nurse DiMaggio,' she heard him call after her.

'Oh, sure I will, Data,' she added sarcastically under her breath as she wiped the last of the cold sweat from her brow. 'Sure I will.'

-x-

_A/N - The song that Q sings is 'Carioca', by Vincent Youmans, Edward Eliscu and Gus Kahn, from 'Flying Down To Rio' and 'The Kentucky Fried Movie'_

_Many thanks to Realmlife for her help Beta reading, and to various friends for help inventing the many ridiculous and disgusting sexual euphamisms._


	8. Chapter 8

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Yesterday Is History

-x-

It was getting late, and Guinan's bar was largely empty. The few remaining patrons congregated around four tables in a corner of the room, some distance from the bar itself. They had already invited Guinan to sit with them several times, only to be politely refused. The barkeeper stood alone; a diminutive, elegant oasis of calm meditation, her fingertips pressed splayed against the bar's surface, her dark, ancient eyes fixed on the infinite void outside the window. Very occasionally, she would mutter a contemplative 'hmm' to herself. It was as though she was anticipating something.

Little did the drinkers know, it was not so much that Guinan was waiting for something to happen, as considering the causes and consequences of something very particular _not_ happening.

The door to the bar swished open, and a young, blonde officer stepped inside. Guinan smiled to herself. Just the person she was thinking of. Tasha had seen it too – she could tell that from the troubled, confused expression of the young woman as she walked up to the bar. How or why Tasha had seen it, however, Guinan couldn't be certain. All Guinan knew was that the criss-crossing pathways of destiny had passed a little too close for comfort recently, and out here that could sometimes yield strange results. If she was to be honest with herself, Guinan didn't particularly like looking too hard into the endless web of the what-might-have-been - to acknowledge the simultaneous existence of millions… _billions_ of Guinans, all living slightly different lives, based on slightly different decisions, and billions more realities where she was already dead, and countless more where she had never even been born… it gave her a terrible headache. Now Tasha had been given a peek into that dizzying infinity of possibilities. No wonder she looked so perturbed. She offered the other woman a friendly smile as she leaned against the bar.

'You know what _really_ gets to me, Guinan?' Tasha asked suddenly.

Guinan barely blinked. It wasn't the first time she'd been thrown blind in to the middle of a conversation and it wouldn't be the last. 'No. What?'

'That he locks me out in the first place,' Tasha replied.

Guinan nodded, sympathetically, hoping to gleam at some point soon a more coherent idea of what it was she was supposed to be so sympathetic about.

'I mean,' continued the young Lieutenant Commander, 'issues of our supposed mutual trust aside, I'm the Chief of Security on this ship, for pity's sake… how am I supposed to do my job if anybody who outranks me by just a gnat's breath is going to be allowed to keep me locked out of significant areas for days on end…'

Guinan gave a smooth nod of understanding. She might have known. 'Data still hidden away in that Cybernetics Lab…?'

'Constantly!' Tasha complained. 'What is he _doing_ in there?'

Guinan shrugged. 'Beats me.'

'I only wanted to talk with him,' continued Tasha, with a sigh. 'Would that have hurt? A ten minute talk? I mean, he was there when it happened, he knows how strange today's been for me. But, no. He is incommunicado. Not To Be Disturbed…'

'Don't you have other people you could talk with instead?'

'Deanna says I've just been working too hard,' Tasha replied with a faint frown. 'She thinks my mind's playing tricks on me. Why am I the only one who remembers? Everybody saw it! Everybody!'

Guinan opened her mouth to reply, but Tasha carried on talking, lost in her furze of confusion and irritation.

'She's off having dinner with Will now, anyway, even if I did want to discuss it further with her… which I don't. Geordi's taken an early night, Wes' studying, Beverley and the Captain are engrossed in some new Holodeck programme… and Worf's in one of his Worf Moods, so I'm giving him a wide berth whenever I can 'til he works his way through it… and I know, I know, that sounds uncharitable, but I work with the guy all day long, and when he's in one of his funks he can be simply unbearable. If I hear another mention of honour, ancestors or Klingon customs today I swear, I'll scream.' Tasha shook her head with a fond, despairing tut. 'That man.'

Guinan furrowed her brow. 'And your boyfriend…?'

Tasha gazed at her, blankly, for a moment. 'Hmm?'

'Rocco…?' prompted Guinan.

'Oh. Yes. Him.' Tasha blinked. 'Rocco. Of course. Lovely Rocco.'

'So why can't you talk with Lovely Rocco about it?'

'Oh,' Tasha waved a hand with a careless air of dismissal. 'He's working.'

'You sure?'

'Pretty sure.'

'You checked?'

Tasha paused for a moment before replying. 'It isn't exactly the sort of thing I'd talk to Rocco about, anyway.'

'Why not? You saw another Enterprise appear out of nowhere. And then, it was simply gone again, along with everybody else's memory of seeing it. Isn't that the sort of thing you should share with your boyfriend?'

'He'd only worry about me.' Her expression darkened a little. 'He _always_ worries about me.' She paused again, realising what Guinan had just said. 'I didn't tell you what I saw.'

'Let me get you a drink,' Guinan replied. 'White coffee, right?'

'You saw it too, didn't you?' Tasha demanded, her eyes alight.

'After a fashion,' Guinan told her quietly, passing a coffee cup over the bar. 'I knew it was there.'

'Do _you_ know what it could mean?' Tasha continued. 'Do you know what it was doing there?'

'It was going,' replied Guinan, pouring the coffee.

'Going where?'

'Someplace else.'

'I don't understand.'

'You're not supposed to.' Guinan smiled, gently. 'I don't completely understand it myself – not enough for me to adequately explain it to you.' She thought for a moment. 'You ever been on an underground train?'

Tasha shook her head.

'There aren't many of them still in operation these days,' Guinan continued, 'but, time was, nearly every major city had an underground network – certainly the Terran ones. You'd whiz along these narrow, black tunnels in the ground… the carriages all had windows, but all you'd be able to see would be the close, dark walls of the tunnel, pretty much all the time. Only, very occasionally, there'd be a point where two railways met – they'd intersect, or they'd run next to each other in the same tunnel for a short way, and you'd see this other train, full of all these other people whooshing past into the darkness.'

'So… this was just a glimpse through some sort of window into another world… another reality? How does that even happen?'

'Guess we passed through an intersection,' Guinan mused. 'We were lucky to stay on track – I can't imagine that everybody did.'

'By "everybody", you mean…'

'I mean, that we should be very grateful that we're still in the right time and place. You don't want to start slipping through parallel dimensions – you never know where you're gonna end up. There are an awful lot of them.'

'So, why is it that you and I are the only ones who remember it happening?'

'Well,' replied Guinan, '_I_ remember it because it's the sort of thing I _would_ remember. As for you…? Now, I honestly can't say. Maybe that ship was looking for you… another you. Maybe not. Maybe it's just something that you need to remember, too.'

'Why?'

'All those people on that ship you saw flick in and out of existence,' Guinan told her, softly, 'they were all living a separate life to us due to different decisions made. _They_ made their destiny unique. As do you. Maybe right now you need a reminder that destiny is never set in stone. Maybe you need to take a good look at your life and see whether you truly are making the best decisions for it.'

Tasha shook her head. 'I'm doing fine. I'm a Lieutenant Commander; Security Chief to Starfleet's flagship, third year running… pretty good going for lady not yet thirty, wouldn't you say…?'

'Whoever said I was talking about your career?'

'But even my personal life's the best it's ever been. I've got more close friends than I've ever had before… for the first time in my life I feel like I've truly found a Family…'

Guinan held her hands up, amiably. 'I'm just saying, is all. Perhaps you feel you should look at the decisions in life that _feel_ smaller, but may actually mean something bigger.'

'Such as…?'

Guinan shrugged. 'Such as, why it is that your first port of call this evening wasn't to see if Nurse DiMaggio was free to talk, but to work yourself into an indignant fury at the locked door of the Cybernetics Lab?'

Tasha stared at Guinan for a moment, then shifted her gaze away, uncomfortably. 'You overheard what Q was saying when he was here, didn't you?'

'Maybe I did.'

Tasha steeled herself to meet eyes once more with the serene Barkeep. 'And…?'

'And,' replied Guinan with a faint smile, 'if Q wanted to shock me, he should've tried telling me something I _don't_ know.'

Tasha's response of 'what?' was not one of startled horror. If anything, her 'what?' had a certain air of already-resigned exasperation about it.

'Sorry,' replied Guinan. 'I've been watching people interact with one another for a very, very long time. I'm good at picking up on these things.'

'Great.' Tasha deflated, gloomily. 'This has to be one of the worst kept secret liaisons since… Since Oscar Wilde was Outed.'

Guinan nodded with a sympathetic sigh. 'Poor old Oscar.'

'Well, apart from trying to behave more discreetly, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do differently about Data and me,' Tasha continued. 'I mean… it's Over…'

'Is it?'

'It wasn't even anything like that in the first place,' Tasha continued, 'not really.'

'Then how can it be Over?'

'I've got Rocco now! Rocco's nice. I'm… I'm perfectly content with Rocco.'

'Content…' Guinan echoed.

'Contentment is important,' Tasha insisted. 'I never have contentment with Data. It's like our friendship and our physical relationship are always at odds with one another… and even when we do strike something akin to a happy balance, there's still always something missing, because this is Data, y'know…? He's… incomplete.' Tasha paused, her resolution slowly crumbling under Guinan's steadfast gaze. 'Not that I'm suggesting _I'm_ "complete", as such… or anybody, I suppose…' she paused again. 'You think I'm being unfair on him, don't you? But, what would really be unfair would be if I was stringing it out, and I'm not. I'm not. I only wanted to speak to him tonight because I saw something I couldn't explain, and he's smart, and he's sympathetic, and… well… maybe "sympathetic" is the wrong term, but you know what I mean…'

'Not really,' Guinan admitted.

Tasha shot Guinan a small, self-mocking smile. 'Sorry. Rambling a little. That's _his_ influence rubbing off, I guess…'

'Guess so,' agreed Guinan.

'So, what do I do?' Tasha asked her. 'If this really is a crossroads, which road should I take…?' Tasha stopped herself, and smiled again. 'Let me guess – it isn't for you to say. What's important is not which path I choose so much as that I choose a path. Right?'

'Your paths are always changing,' replied Guinan; '_you_ are always changing, as are the people around you. Just because somebody's patient and easy-going with you at this moment in time, it doesn't necessarily mean that they always will be. Could be that what you think is just water being swept under the bridge is actually building up and up against a huge dam someplace you can't yet see. But when that dam breaks…' Guinan cleared her throat. 'Now you got me rambling, too. But you get my point…'

'I do,' Tasha replied. 'You're right. You're completely right.' She drank up. 'Thanks, Guinan.'

'Leaving, so soon?'

'I know what I have to do. It's a decision I've made before, and I stuck to it back then for a good long time… took me about a year to falter from the right path last time. Looks like that's what I'm doing again. I'm making the same mistakes. But not for long.'

'You know,' Guinan added, 'there's only so many times one can make the same "mistake".'

'Precisely.' Tasha took a step back from the bar. 'Computer? Please state the whereabouts of Nurse DiMaggio.'

She nodded peacefully at the Computer's announcement that DiMaggio was in his quarters. 'See you around, Guinan.'

'What I mean,' persisted Guinan, 'is that there's a point where something stops being an accident and starts to have a deliberate reason…' Tasha wasn't listening. She tried another tack. 'If Commander Data surfaces at any point, do you want me to tell him you were waiting to speak with him?'

'Don't bother,' Tasha replied as she left the bar. 'I've changed my plans.'


	9. Chapter 9

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Bereft

-x-

The noise of the funfair faded fast as one walked towards the coast. By the time a visitor to Wonderland had walked the ten minutes to the beach, all there was to hear was the moderate, cool wind in the crab grass, the occasional seagull overhead and the hush of the breakers on the wet sand.

'I thought I'd find you here.'

Data, who had hitherto been perched neatly on a dry, grassy mound, motionlessly staring out at the fabricated ocean, looked up at Tasha.

'I hope you do not mind my using the programme without you…'

'It's fine.' Tasha paused. 'You look sad.'

'I am not sad.'

'But you _look_ sad.'

'That is probably fitting, given the circumstances. Perhaps part of the reason why I have found it necessary to seek a moment of quiet contemplation is that I am aware that I _should_ be sad.'

Tasha laid a hand gently on his shoulder. 'Do you want me to leave you alone?'

'That is not necessary,' Data replied. 'I entered the programme alone purely because I did not wish to trouble you for your company. I assumed that you would be otherwise engaged with Nurse DiMaggio this evening.'

Tasha sat down alongside him. 'Rocco and I aren't going to be seeing so much of each other for a while.'

'You have terminated your relationship…?'

'We've…' Tasha struggled, 'we've come to a mutual decision that we should…' she gave up, with a sigh. 'Yeah. It's over.'

'My commiserations. Nurse DiMaggio seemed to be a very pleasant individual.'

'Oh, he was lovely,' Tasha replied. 'Probably a bit _too_ lovely for me.'

Data cast her a confused glance. 'How can you find a person to be "too lovely"?'

'Sometimes it's nice to have a little friction with a person,' Tasha told him. 'A little tension, a little discord. Without it, things get… well, they get pretty boring.'

'Oh.' Data paused. 'Should I make an attempt to be less amiable towards you, lest you begin to also find our friendship boring?'

Tasha snorted a short laugh. 'I wouldn't worry about that, Data. Tension's one of the few things the pair of us aren't lacking in.'

A spark of comprehension slowly flickered into life in Data's eyes. 'As a result of our physical relationship…?'

'Yes, Data.'

Data blinked as another concept hit him. 'I sincerely hope that this tension between you and I had no ill affect upon your regard for your relationship with Nurse DiMaggio.'

Tasha paused. 'It might have done.'

'I am sorry.'

Tasha pinched the bridge of her nose. 'What am I saying? It's not fair to drag you into the break up with Rocco – it isn't your doing. You - my reactions to you, that is - were more a symptom of the relationship with him being all wrong, not the cause. I made a steadfast decision a few weeks back, a short while after what happened in the Turbolift, to leave you be - to push you to the back of my mind and really throw myself into making things work with Rocco, and _still_ things didn't pan out. I've realised that, if it was meant to be, I'm sure I'd never have been so easily swayed in the first place.'

She paused again, and turned to face him, seriously. There was something very different about his expression. He appeared older, somehow. The low twilight cast shadows over his face, which seemed to deepen the furrows of his brow. She could tell that he was still not convinced of his innocence in her break-up with DiMaggio, but that was not what had changed about him. His blankness had gone. His features no longer fell into an expression of simple neutrality, but into one of faint, resigned sadness – so slight that one could barely tell the difference. But it was there. As much as she already knew he would claim she was merely projecting emotion onto him if she pointed it out, she knew that it was there.

'Why are we talking about me?' She asked, softly. 'Me and Rocco splitting isn't the end of the world. We should be talking about _you_. We should be talking about Lal.' She regarded him carefully, watching for any alteration of expression. 'That is,' she added, 'provided you want to.'

'Why should I not wish to talk about her?' Data asked. 'I would imagine that to discuss the impact that she had upon those of us who knew her would be a fitting tribute.'

'It takes some parents time,' Tasha told him, quietly. 'You only lost Lal yesterday – it can take some people years to be able to talk about the death of a child. Everybody grieves in their own way.'

'I am not certain that I am capable of "grieving", as such…'

'You are grieving,' Tasha asserted. 'You're just doing it in a very Data-ish way, that's all.'

'"Data-ish"?' echoed the android, rolling the invented term around his mind. 'You mean that you perceive that I _am_ mourning, in my own idiosyncratic manner?'

'Q was right. You do get there in the end.' She offered him a sad smile. 'Lal was such a lovely girl.'

'Not _too_ "lovely"…?'

'Not at all. She was perfect.'

Data shook his head. 'She was far from perfect. Had she been perfect, she certainly would not have suffered the system failures which terminated her.' He paused, and there again was that heavy inhalation and exhalation of breath – that almost-sigh that she had heard once before after Q had left them. 'I did not make her strong enough to survive. I failed her.'

'Data.' She took his hand. 'Don't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault.'

'She was my child. I was supposed to protect her from harm, but I failed to do so. It stands to reason that I am, in part, at least, responsible for her demise.'

'Don't talk like that. Please? I know it's natural for grieving parents to turn all their distress and anger inwards, but…'

'I am not distressed, Tasha,' Data replied, calmly. 'Nor am I angry. If only I could be. I cannot help but believe that I am mourning incorrectly.'

'Listen to yourself, Data! There is no right or wrong way to grieve. You aren't failing her now for not wailing and beating your chest, and you didn't fail her when she was alive. Short as it was, Lal had a much better start in life than I did; than you too, for that matter, and that's a testament to you. Stop beating yourself up.'

'I am not.'

'Stop denying everything I say.'

'I am not denying everything you say…'

'There you go again!' Tasha forced herself to calm down. 'Maybe you could join a support group. Maybe they'd be able to talk a little more sense into you. Has Deanna mentioned anything along those lines?'

'I have not yet spoken in depth with Counsellor Troi regarding Lal's death.'

'You're kidding. Why not?'

Data paused. 'Was the point of this conversation not to discuss Lal's life, Tasha? We appear to be talking solely about me, and my reaction to her death. There is no merit in dwelling on such matters, with you, or Counsellor Troi, or anybody for that matter.'

'Please, talk to Deanna,' Tasha persisted, 'she'll understand. She lost a child recently too - after a fashion.'

Data didn't reply to that. He just looked at Tasha, with that dimly aged and sad expression. A realisation slowly dawned on her.

'That's exactly why you haven't approached her,' she added, 'isn't it?'

'I noticed that the Counsellor was particularly saddened by Lal's death,' Data replied. 'I am aware that often individuals can find that events which do not directly affect them can serve as painful reminders of similar events which have occurred to them in the past. I remember how distressed she was when Ian's material form expired. I have no wish to return her to that state of suffering.'

'Deanna's a grown woman, and a professional. She deals with the grief of others every day. You know that. It's not that you wanted to protect her from upsetting memories; you just didn't want to share the hurt. You want to keep it to yourself.'

'I feel no "hurt".' Data paused again, with a faint frown. 'Even if I did, why would I covet sole possession over it?'

'Because you're as weird and twisted as the rest of us poor saps.'

'"Weird"…' echoed Data, with a certain sense of wonder, '…"twisted"… is that what you truly believe?'

'Please don't take that as an insult.' Slowly, gingerly, Tasha twined her hand around the crook of his elbow until their arms were linked. 'I think I understand you better today than I ever did before.'

'You too have experienced the loss of close family,' Data recalled. 'Your parents…'

'…my sister…' added Tasha, under her breath.

Data looked across at her. 'You lost a sister, also?'

Tasha nodded, and rested her head against his shoulder.

'I did not know that you had had a sister who had been killed.'

Tasha drew breath to correct him, to tell him that the loss of her sister had been emotional, rather than mortal, but Data carried on talking.

'Is it that you did not wish to discuss her death for the same reasons that you have assumed I do not wish to discuss Lal's termination at present; because you did not care to share your grief?'

Data paused, giving her the chance to reply with the truth of the matter.

She didn't.

She remained silent, her head on his shoulder, her eyes cast out to sea.

'In which case,' continued Data, 'I can only speculate that you have chosen to tell me of this now in order to join with me; to share the burden of loss. Does the old adage not state; "a problem shared is a problem halved"?'

Tasha looked up at him, still holding her tongue.

'Perhaps you were correct about my seeking isolation over Lal's death,' Data concluded. 'That you have shared with me a loss that you have kept a secret for the years we have known one another has helped me to comprehend that, and that such seclusion is ultimately unnecessary. I shall seek counselling over her death.'

He paused again, giving Tasha another opportunity to tell him the truth. She turned her gaze back to the sea, and thought. While it was true that, when they had parted ways, Ishara had still been alive, Tasha had long since faced up to the fact that the chances of her surviving long on Turkana IV were slim. The likelihood was that her sister was already dead. Even if she wasn't, she may as well have been – it wasn't as though she was ever going to see her again. Their sisterhood certainly had died many years ago. And allowing Data to continue with his misconception did appear to be easing his grief. Who would benefit truly from her telling the truth, she asked herself – her, or him?

'Yet again,' added Data, 'you have sacrificed your privacy, which I know that you hold dear, in order to benefit me.' He wrapped a hand gently around hers – a gesture she was sure he'd never offered her before. 'You are a good friend, Tasha.'

Tasha took her head from his shoulder and looked him in the eye. 'I'm so sorry about Lal.'

'And I am sorry about your family.'

He paused for a second, then leaned towards her and planted on her unresponsive lips the same light, partially-platonic kiss that he had tried out on the Ferris Wheel all those months ago.

Tasha drew away from him – only a couple of inches, but enough for him to sit back, blinking with confusion and concern.

'I don't think now's the time,' Tasha explained, softly.

'My apologies.'

'Don't apologise.'

'I have committed a faux-pas.'

'No you haven't'

'I have.'

'Data?'

'Yes?'

'Stop being so argumentative.'

'I was not aware that I was being argumentative.'

'You're doing it again!'

Data opened his mouth, paused, then nodded in agreement. 'I shall return to the quiet contemplation that I initially came here for.'

'Sounds like a good idea.'

'You are welcome to remain here and meditate with me.'

'I'd like that.'

'Very well.'

'Off we go, then. Quiet contemplation.'

'Indeed.'

'Yep.'

There was a pause as they both looked out to sea, their arms still linked.

'Data?'

'Yes, Tasha?'

Tasha paused again, then placed her head back on his shoulder.

'Nothing.'


	10. Chapter 10

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Ode To Joy

-x-

'_Freude, schöner Götterfunken, Tochter aus Elysium…'_

'Ode to Joy? Really?'

'_Wir betreten feuertrunken, Himmlische, Dein Heiligtum.'_

'It's just that you don't strike me as a Beethoven sort of a girl.'

'Got roped into joining a choir recently, if you must know.'

'You know, I have the original manuscript for that work…'

'And I'm not a Beethoven sort of girl, or _any_ sort of girl. I'm a grown woman, in case you hadn't noticed.'

'Oh, I'd noticed.'

Tasha gave her prisoner a curt, sarcastic smile, and went back to her notes, still singing under her breath.

'_Deine Zauber binden wieder…'_

'Not the statement again,' Fajo groaned, his hands pressed in exasperation to his temples. 'This is cruel and unusual punishment…'

Tasha continued to study her notes. 'You threw a vial of corrosive liquid at Lieutenant Commander Data…'

'Just to get rid of that damned uniform, since he refused to take it off. I didn't hurt him.'

'You stripped a prisoner, against his expressed consent.'

Fajo threw himself violently into a sarcastic pantomime of childish woe, rubbing his fists against his eyes and stamping his feet. 'Oh, Boo-Hoo-Hoo! Took the robot out of its original costume! Whaaah!' He folded his arms, sullenly. 'What if I did? What difference does it make?'

Tasha shrugged, nonchalantly. 'Well, since that classes as a Personal Assault, it makes a difference of an extra couple of years on your sentence.'

'What?!' Fajo spat.

'Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about it,' Tasha added, 'the stretch you're looking at already is so long it'll be a drop in the ocean.'

Fajo just glared at her.

Tasha fought back a smirk. '"Boo-Hoo-Hoo", indeed.' She sang softly once more, re-reading Data's statement for any more misdemeanours she could throw the book at Fajo for. '_Was die Mode streng geteilt…'_

'Ode to Joy?' asked a voice from behind her.

She turned to see Data give Llewellyn the door guard a courteous nod as he was allowed into the Brig. Tasha was satisfied to see the scowl on Fajo's face deepen even further.

'I do not believe that I have ever heard you sing before,' Data added. 'You have an agreeable tone. I am anticipating your chamber choir's recital…'

'Data,' pleaded Fajo, peevishly, 'call your Guard Dog off, for pity's sake.'

'Commander Yar,' Data began to explain in the same patient tone he had used on Q, 'is not a…'

Tasha pushed forward to address Fajo, nudging Data aside with her shoulder. 'You know, you're the second prisoner I've had in the last couple of months who's referred to me in that way.'

'Why,' Fajo sneered, 'what did the last one do?'

'He regretted it.'

'Is that some sort of threat?'

'I am certain that Commander Yar would not let you come to any physical harm under her guard,' Data informed his former abductor, calmly. He paused. 'However, I would advise against purposefully enraging her. She has… certain methods…'

'She's been spending the last two hours tormenting me with a list of countless trumped-up charges that your people are going to persecute me with.'

Data peered at Tasha's notes for a moment. 'These charges are all valid, to my recollection,' he told the prisoner. 'As for being persecuted; you are a criminal. You must face judgement for what you have done.'

'But she's _enjoying_ it! She's _gloating_!' Fajo paused, sourly. 'I can only guess you've come here for similar reasons.'

'No,' Data told him simply, before taking Tasha to one side, addressing her with a hushed tone. 'Wesley informed me that you were particularly upset when the crew was made to believe I had perished…'

Tasha rolled her eyes. 'Well, thanks a lot, Wesley.'

'…that, in fact, the main reason you had for joining the chamber choir was that you expressed a wish to sing at my memorial ceremony,' continued Data, not appearing to pick up on Tasha's discomfort, 'that you assisted tirelessly in Geordi's investigation over the discrepancies of the shuttle explosion since, in your words, you "would give anything for even the most remote chance to bring back that sweet, stupid bag of bolts"…'

Tasha bit down a sheepish grin at the android's repetition of the words she had spoken in exhausted emotional turmoil less than 24 hours previously. 'Next time we see Wesley, remind me to punch that boy in the kidneys.'

'Hello?!' called Fajo from his cell, 'I'm still here, you know…'

'I can remind you if you so wish,' replied Data, bemused, 'but you must be aware that carrying out such an act would be extremely inadvisable. In fact, I would personally restrain you from doing so if you attempted such an attack.'

'Stop ignoring me!' Fajo tried waving his hands above his head in order to attract their attention. 'Why are you ignoring me? You must have had _some_ reason for coming all the way over here to see me, so…' He trailed off. 'Unless, you didn't come here to see _me_ at all. You came here to see _her_, didn't you?'

Tasha and Data glanced in unison over at the prisoner, who broke into a vicious grin.

'So. It has a girlfriend.'

'No, it doesn't,' Tasha replied, correcting herself with '_he_ doesn't,' before Data could draw breath to pick her up on her momentary pronoun trouble.

'Oh, that's just too precious,' Fajo continued, happily. 'I thought your ethics were weakness enough, but sentimentality…? That, Data, is a true Achilles Heel. If only I'd known about that sooner…' he shrugged. 'Oh well, at least I know now. For next time.'

'You do not seriously believe that you will be able to escape a lengthy prison sentence?' Data asked. 'Even if you manage to do so, your assets are gone. You will no longer be able to buy the equipment and manpower that you used to detain me before. You have also lost Starfleet's trust, the element of surprise…'

'But I wouldn't need any of that to make you compliant,' Fajo spat, 'now would I? How'd you like to see your little Guard Dog on a choke chain, hmm, Data? Bet you wouldn't be so insubordinate then, would you?'

Tasha put her hand on the android's shoulder. 'This guy's starting to bore me, Data. Shall we take this conversation elsewhere?'

'Very well.'

'Oh,' Fajo continued to rail, '_then_ you'd do what you were told. I bet you'd do tricks. I bet you'd…'

Tasha addressed the door guard, warmly. 'Will you be all right babysitting our guest for a while, Llewellyn?'

'Sure,' replied the stoic guard.

'And for the record,' she added to Llewellyn, confidentially, 'he couldn't be more wrong about that whole Girlfriend thing.'

'You're the Boss,' replied Llewellyn with a faint smirk.

'He _is_ wrong!' she insisted as she led Data out of the Brig.

'Come back!' Fajo called as they walked out, 'don't you dare think I'm done with you! I'll get you back for this! Oh, I'll get you, my pretty. You, and your little dog, as…'

The door closed behind them, mercifully shutting out Fajo's irate cat-calling.

'Do you really believe that I am a "stupid bag of bolts", Tasha?' asked Data, suddenly.

'I did say you were sweet, as well.'

'But stupid.'

Tasha smiled. 'OK, so that was a little harsh…'

'And, unless you were referring to certain social difficulties I occasionally succumb to as mere "stupidity", it was also inaccurate.'

'I meant it fondly,' argued Tasha.

'I do not dispute that,' Data replied. 'I have found reports of your response to my apparent demise to be surprisingly devoted. Is it true that you wept considerably over my supposed death, on at least two separate occasions…?'

'Wesley told you about that, too?' She asked through gritted teeth.

'Actually,' Data admitted, 'that was Geordi.'

Tasha cast a glance ceiling-ward. 'Men. All you ever do is gossip.'

'Hey,' called a youthful, male voice from behind them both, 'wanna hear some gossip?'

Tasha turned to see a particularly excitable Ensign Crusher bounding towards them like a puppy with a new squeaky ball. Tasha hated puppies, with or without squeaky balls.

Wesley bounced to a stop. 'You will _never_ guess some of the loot we've confiscated off of Fajo…'

'Tasha?' Interrupted Data.

'Yes, Data?'

'Punch Wesley in the kidneys.'

'What?!'

'Commander Yar requested earlier that I should remind her to do so the next time we saw you,' Data explained to the horrified Ensign. 'However…'

'However,' interjected Tasha, 'I guess you're off the hook, since somebody told me recently that to do so would be extremely inadvisable.' She wrapped a friendly arm around Data's shoulder, and gave Wesley a meaningful glare. 'Somebody who is _very_ smart, and _not_ a stupid bag of bolts.'

'Oh,' sighed Wesley in sheepish understanding. 'So that's why you're mad at me, huh?'

Tasha grinned. How could she be mad? How could anybody be mad on a day like today? The stars outside were particularly shiny, the air particularly sweet. Justice had been meted out to an exceptionally nasty crook, and the good friend that she had thought dead was alive and well and at her side. It was a day to be joyful. It was a day for singing Beethoven.

'Don't worry, Wes,' she replied genially, 'we're just playing with you.'

'We are…?' inquired the android at her side, a little lost.

Wesley offered Tasha a relieved, but still slightly sheepish smile. 'Guess all's well that ends well.'

'Guess so.'

Wesley jerked a thumb in the direction he'd previously been excitedly heading. 'So, are you guys coming to the cargo bay? Worf said it would be OK as long as nobody touches anything…'

'Me and Data were sorta in the middle of a conversation,' Tasha replied. 'We were just going to continue it over a cup of coffee.'

'But you can't miss out on seeing something like this,' persisted Wesley, 'we're talking about pretty much every important artefact that's gone missing over the last two decades, all together in the same place…'

'I know,' Tasha replied with an uncommon patience. 'I'm the one who organised bringing it all carefully on board.'

'And I was all too recently the newest addition to the "loot" of which you speak,' added Data. 'I am in no hurry to return myself to it.' He turned to Tasha. 'Shall we take coffee now?'

'I don't see why not.' Tasha gave Wesley an over-sweet smile. 'Unless you have any more embarrassing stories to tell about me, Ensign, we'll be on our way.'

Wesley watched as the duo about-turned a little awkwardly, since Tasha's hand was still on Data's shoulder, and walked off in the direction of the Turbolift together. As they walked he heard the Chief of Security begin to softly sing – her voice growing in volume and confidence as the android at her side, automatically, it seemed, took up the tenor line of her tune.

'_Deine Zauber binden wieder, Was die Mode streng geteilt…_'

He shook his head as they rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. 'Strange people.'

He stepped away, and the voices of the unseen singers faded into the hum of the ship. '_Alle Menschen werden Brüder, Wo Dein sanfter Flügel weilt._'


	11. Chapter 11

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

The Sandwich

-x-

Tasha was in a hurry. Yes, that was it. No time to think, no time to reflect. She had to get on with the task in hand. No time, no time at all. No time to talk. No time to grieve. No time for anything except her duty.

Her duty.

Her duty had been to protect Jean Luc, but…

She shook her head, trying to somehow physically force the thought, and the swell of emotion that came with it, back into submission. Similarly, she made a conscious effort not to ponder why she had suddenly, posthumously began thinking of the lost Captain by his first name. Under other circumstances, she'd have told herself that there would be time for such soul-searching later, but on this occasion, she honestly didn't think that this would be the case. In a way, she was almost glad of that. There was nothing but the immediate future that was worth so much as thinking about…

A hand on her shoulder brought her out of her contemplations, but wasn't enough to cause her to break her stride. She glanced at the pale, synthetic hand, then across at the face that belonged to it while she walked.

'May I speak with you, Tasha?' asked the android as he easily kept up with her pace.

Tasha shook her head. 'Little busy right now. I've got the small matter of adapting our entire weaponry to give us at least a fighting chance against the…'

She trailed off with a frown as Data suddenly held a wedge of bread in front of her face.

'What's that?'

'It is a sandwich,' Data replied.

'A sandwich.'

'Yes.'

'Any particular reason why you're waving a sandwich at me?'

'Lieutenant Worf has recently voiced concern over your behaviour since our encounter with the Borg.'

Tasha rolled her eyes.

'He has noticed,' Data continued, 'that you have neither rested nor eaten since then, to which the response from Captain Riker was, and I quote; "somebody better force a sandwich into her or something – I need her alert and in fighting shape".' Data proffered the sandwich once again. 'It is cheese and salad, with extra tomatoes and no onion – a combination which I have noticed you order from the replicator several times in the past, when in need of a fast meal.'

Tasha pushed the food away. 'Not hungry.'

'While I have no wish whatsoever to force-feed you,' persisted Data, 'those _were_ the Captain's orders, and I shall do so if necessary. If you do not tend to the needs of your body, you will not be properly efficient at your post…'

Tasha stopped walking suddenly, and turned on the android. 'Like I was when we were boarded by the Borg, Data? Oh yes, I was _very_ efficient then, wasn't I?'

Data blinked. 'Is that an example of sarcasm, Tasha?'

'They took him,' Tasha clarified. 'They took Jean Luc… Captain Picard,' she corrected herself, 'right from under my nose.'

'That is not your doing.'

'I'm Chief of Security – I should've made certain that that never happened. He was less than two metres away from me… It _is_ my fault, Data.'

'What could you have done differently?' Data asked her. 'How could you have tackled the Drone? Lieutenant Worf has a greater physical strength than you, and he was thrown to the floor.' He paused briefly, but, since Tasha had no answer to give, carried on again soon after. 'Perhaps I could have overpowered that particular Drone, had I been faster to respond, but I am certain that another would have swiftly taken its place, and so on until they had achieved their objective.'

'"Their objective",' echoed Tasha, bitterly. She began her fast march towards the Turbolift again. 'How can even you refer to what happened as dispassionately as that? They took him. They invaded him. They raped his memory, mutilated his body, and they kept him alive. A slave.' She came to an abrupt halt in front of the Turbolift. 'His face… God, his face…'

She felt the swell of grief and guilt that had been plaguing her since Picard's abduction rise up in her again as she recalled Locutus' face looming on the screen - Jean Luc's face, twisted by the Borg's implants, set in an expression of calm contempt for the very people he had always cared so deeply about. She bit down on a knuckle, willing herself desperately not to cry. She reminded herself that she didn't have time to feel sorry for him, or for herself.

'Since we have served together,' Data informed her, 'it has been mentioned to me by several of our colleagues that you take matters "too personally". Do you believe that to be an accurate conclusion?'

Tasha shook her head, struggling to keep herself under control. 'Not everything. Depends on the situation. Depends on the person…'

The Turbolift arrived, and she stepped inside, closely followed by Data. There was a pause as the lift began its journey up to the Bridge. Data opened his mouth as though to say something, faltered, then, seemingly arriving upon a resolution, spoke.

'Are your feelings towards Captain Picard in any way romantic?'

'Yes,' replied Tasha's mouth before her brain had time to intervene. She checked herself. 'No. A long time ago I thought, maybe… but…' She shook her head again, shifting her eyes away from Data's confused expression. 'I don't know _what_ I feel any more. It's like my world's been turned inside-out…' She sniffed, and, as an afterthought, explained; 'That's just a metaphor, Data.'

'Actually,' the android informed her, patiently, 'that was a simile. Please eat the sandwich.'

'It might have slipped your attention, Data, but we happen to be dead in the water here. Even without the Captain's knowledge we didn't have a chance against them, but now…? This is the proverbial It, Data. Game over. We're screwed…'

'_Those_ were all metaphors…' Data quietly pointed out.

'What does it matter?' interrupted Tasha. 'What does it matter how I feel about Picard, or you, or myself? What does it matter whether I eat your stupid sandwich or not? We're going to die. We're either going to die, or end up like Locutus, and it's going to happen soon, so what does it…' her voice began to crack under the strain of keeping her tears at bay. 'Dammit…'

'Tasha…?'

Tasha wiped her eyes, but more and more hot tears began to form. 'I don't have time for this…'

'I agree. As Captain Riker said, there will be opportunity to grieve later.'

'No there won't. Weren't you listening, Data? We're out of time. We're all out of time…'

Tasha felt a stiff arm inelegantly circle her shoulders, and pull her in to an awkward hug. Tasha was aware that, under normal circumstances, it should have made her feel utterly uncomfortable, but somehow... somehow on this occasion, it worked. There was something about the coolness of his skin and the ponderous, regular rhythm of his pulse as she ground her forehead into his shoulder that calmed her. She began to take deep, controlled breaths, and forced the tears deep down into submission once more. She laid a reciprocating hand between his shoulder blades, and sighed.

'I could fall for you, you know that?'

Data took hold of her elbows and pushed her away at arm's length before she so much as realised she'd spoken the thought aloud.

'I strongly recommend that you do not.'

'I'm sorry,' blinked Tasha, 'I don't know where that came from.'

'Then you do not mean it?'

'I… I'm not sure…' She frowned, suddenly feeling rather insulted by his reaction. 'Would it really be the end of the world if I did?'

'It would be extremely inadvisable for you to do so,' Data told her. 'You must remember that I would be incapable of returning any affection. I would not want to make you unhappy or frustrated.'

'I'm not stupid, Data…'

'Besides which,' Data continued, 'only moments ago, you were admitting to having amorous feelings for Captain Picard…'

'I did not! All I said was…'

'Perhaps you have become momentarily… confused,' suggested the android, 'as a result of the stressful nature of our current predicament.'

Tasha glared at him for a moment. The Turbolift came to a stop, thankfully ending their conversation. 'It's all immaterial anyway,' she grunted as she pushed past him onto the bridge. 'Forget I said anything.'

'Eat the sandwich, Commander,' was Data's only response as he walked away from her to his station.

* * *

A Nice Cup Of Tea And A Sit Down

-x-

It seemed to her as though he'd somehow tried to hide, tucked away in a dark corner of Ten Forward, but still he stuck out like a sore thumb. The Captain always did, she supposed; it was one of the curses of command that one could never really blend into the background. Besides which, his face was still a mess. The scars left in the implants' wake had still far from healed. She wondered if she'd ever see that face looking normal and comfortable ever again. She hoped so. Only days ago, she'd assured herself that she'd never have the remotest chance of doing so. And now, here he was. Here he was, sitting in Ten Forward, nursing a cup of tea and gazing out into space - human once more.

She approached his small, lonely table.

'This chair free?'

'Hmm?' Picard took a moment to focus on her. 'Oh. Yes, Commander. Be my guest.'

Tasha sat down opposite him. 'Thanks.'

'Oh.' Picard blinked. 'I assumed you were going to take the chair away.'

'Why should I do that?'

Picard shrugged. 'I just took it for granted that you'd be here with somebody.'

'I'm with somebody now, aren't I?' She smiled.

He attempted a weak smile in return.

'If you want to be alone, just say, Sir. I won't mind.'

Picard sighed. 'Sorry. I must be coming across as horribly standoffish. After all you did to bring me back from… from _them_…' he trailed off.

'I understand,' she told him, softly. 'I used to have days like that - still do, sometimes, as a matter of fact – you feel like you gotta show your face, you've got to show everybody that whatever happened to you didn't grind you down, they didn't rob you of your spirits or your strength… but deep down, you feel that they did. They _did_ grind you down, and you feel like a shadow of the person you used to be, and all you want to do is curl up and hide. Sound familiar?'

Picard didn't look up from his teacup. 'How do you do it, Tasha? How did you ever get back up again, after what was done to you? How did you learn to look people in the eye again, and laugh, and enjoy life?'

'You know that old saying that whatever doesn't kill you only makes you stronger?'

'Of course.'

Tasha took in a deep breath. 'You bury the shame you feel as well as you can, but you keep hold of the rage. You let that fury burn on. Even when you have a day when the rage is all you have, that's enough keep you going, at least. And the most important thing…?' She leaned across the table and gently touched the edge of his sleeve. 'Obliterate the word "victim" from your vocabulary. You're not a victim. You're a survivor. And that makes you strong.'

Picard looked up at her and smiled again – still faint, but genuine this time. 'Lieutenant Commander Yar, you are a woman of extraordinary fortitude - does anybody ever tell you that?'

'If they know what's good for them,' she beamed.

She paused, watching him drink his tea.

'You know,' she added, 'it's funny how sometimes you don't really appreciate how much somebody means to you until you think you've lost them.'

Picard nodded in silent agreement.

'You and I are both pretty reclusive people,' Tasha continued. 'We don't socialise much, least of all with one another. I think that's a terrible shame. Don't you?'

Picard set his cup down with another slight smile. 'Tasha Yar, I do believe you're asking me out on a date.'

Tasha let out a small, nervous laugh. 'Not a "date" as such…'

'Because,' interjected Picard, 'I can't say that I think it's such a good idea for a Starship Captain to indulge in a fraternisation with a member of his Senior Staff…'

'Hey! Hold your horses there,' grinned Tasha. 'I'm talking about you and me just getting to know each other a little better. Friends, that's all.'

Picard held his hands up to her. 'Of course. I apologise for the misunderstanding.' He shot her an amused glance. 'Anyway, I forgot, you're _involved_…'

'No I'm not,' she told him, quickly.

'You're not…?'

'No.'

'But you two seem to have been getting very close over the past few…'

'I'm not involved with anybody,' she told him. 'I'm a free agent. And I'm _still_ not asking you on a date.'

Picard paused. 'Of course I'd like to be friends with you, Tasha. You are a charming individual.'

'However…' prompted Tasha.

'_However_,' continued Picard, 'at this moment in time… I don't know. You wouldn't be seeing the best of me, that's for certain. I just don't feel comfortable with that.'

Tasha nodded, calmly. 'I understand. And I hope you don't think I'm being forward, I just don't want to waste any more chances to spend the sort of time with you that I'd always hoped to.' She got up from the table. 'When you want to… _if_ you ever want to… just let me know. Offer's always open.'

Picard echoed her nod. 'Thank you.'

'You're welcome.'

'No,' replied the Captain, seriously. 'I mean it. Thank you.'

Tasha just smiled, and turned away.

'You know,' added Picard from the table, 'Dixon Hill had a niece. A Girl Detective – quite the trailblazer. Perhaps, some day, you'd like to join me for an adventure?'

'I'd like that,' Tasha smiled. 'I'd like that a lot.'


	12. Chapter 12

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

There's No Place Like Home, Part 1

-x-

It wasn't that Riker hadn't considered the implications when selecting the away team to retrieve the freighter crew unfortunate enough to have crashed on the lawless Hellhole that was Turkana IV. He didn't exactly have long to ponder it – to weigh up which would be more upsetting to Tasha; to order her to beam down to the place where she had spent miserable, brutal years as a child, or to automatically discount her for the mission based on her background. Ultimately, it had come down to a single question – who was the best for the job?

He had selected Lieutenant Commander Yar.

He was not surprised, however, when, halfway towards the transporter room, he heard heavy footsteps catching up with the group and suddenly found himself with a very purposeful looking Klingon by his side.

'Sir, I must protest at your choice of Security Officer for this mission.'

Riker glanced at Worf, then over his shoulder at Tasha who was, thankfully, appearing to take the Klingon's interjection with amusement rather than indignation.

'Commander Yar herself has described Turkana IV to be a colony which is extremely hostile towards women in particular. It would be far safer to send me in her stead.'

'Mr Worf,' replied Will, taking cue from Tasha's unbothered expression to keep his tone as light as he could, 'I hope you're not suggesting that I make a discriminatory judgement on Commander Yar's capabilities based purely on her gender…'

'It is not _I_ who would treat her differently as a female,' growled Worf, 'but _them_.' He turned his entreaty directly to Tasha. 'These people tortured you throughout your childhood. You do not need to go back there…'

'Aw, Sweetie,' Tasha smiled. 'You worry about me too much.'

'Do not call me "Sweetie"!' Worf scowled. 'Even in jest. I've told you that before.'

'And like _I_ told _you_ before,' Tasha replied, 'I'll stop patronising you only so long as you return the favour. Huh, Sweetie?'

'You're impossible,' grumbled the Klingon.

'I agree with Lieutenant Worf,' added the android on the other side of Riker. 'I believe that you should seriously consider allowing him to take your place on this mission.'

Will looked over his shoulder again. For some reason, Data's comment had caused Tasha's expression to change from one of mocking amusement to an irritated frown.

'Did you not tell me once that you would "rather die than ever set foot on Turkana IV again"?' Data asked her.

Riker blinked. 'I didn't know that…'

'That's because it was an offhand comment in what I _thought_ was a private conversation,' Tasha replied, narrowing her eyes accusatorially at the android. 'It was an emotional moment, a long time ago. There was no need for Commander Data to have repeated it.'

'Tasha,' Riker told her, 'I don't want you to feel forced to go down there if you're uncomfortable with it. You can switch duties with Worf for the mission, nobody will think any less of you for it…'

'On the contrary, Sir,' Tasha replied, 'I _want_ to go down there. I'm not the scared little girl who escaped that world 15 years ago, I'm a Starfleet officer. I want to walk on that planet and know that I've beaten it. Besides, unlike the rest of you, I actually _know_ Turkana IV. I'll be far more useful than Worf on this occasion. No offence.'

'None taken,' muttered Worf.

'Then it's settled,' concluded Riker as they reached the transporter room.

Tasha nodded, and added beneath her breath; 'guess I'm finally going home.'

-x-

So this was what passed as a Coalition HQ these days. Tasha ran her fingers over her sidearm for the umpteenth time as she looked around herself. The Coalition chiefs had always seemed so intimidating to her as a kid, but this…? This was pathetic. Sniggering twenty-somethings stealing liquor. Had it always been so petty…?

Tasha thought back to the tunnels as Riker spoke with the Coalition leader. She was actually glad not to recognise the colony whatsoever – it seemed that it had changed over the last 15 years just as much as she had. Very little of it save her old hiding places in the sewers had been underground before, whereas now it seemed that everybody had given up the surface. Similarly, she was relieved not to recognise a single face amongst the inhabitants. It didn't appear as though there was anybody around who was any older than she was – she couldn't imagine that the life expectancy was particularly high. The whole group that had lead the away team off into their dank headquarters must have all been no more than kids at the time Tasha had got away.

There was one guy, though – a small, wiry young man at the back of the small crowd of Coalition members - who was looking at her in a way she didn't much care for. She touched her phaser again. For all her bravado on the ship, she did still feel uneasy at the very least at being back on Turkana IV. It wasn't for fear of being attacked this time, however. The weapon beneath her fingertips, coupled with the presence of Data and Will Riker, were assurance enough to her that neither herself nor Beverly could be under any real threat from the underfed, rag-tag bunch they had found. What she was anxious about was the prospect of being recognised. She and Ishara had hidden and camped with so many different packs of kids over the years, who was to say whether she'd run into one of those unfortunates down here?

She turned her face away from the scrawny man who had been staring curiously at her. Riker was just about finishing up. These people either couldn't, or wouldn't, help them retrieve the escaped crewmen. The colony, in her day the last word in anarchy, had since become far more politically polarised, and it seemed that the swift force of their little away team would not be capable of finding the freighter crew straight away. Tasha wasn't sure whether she was relieved or disappointed. Either way, it was time to beam out of the sunless tunnels of her childhood and back to her home in the glittering sky.

She was just preparing herself for Riker's signal to transport when the scrawny man spoke up.

'Do I know you…?'

All eyes turned to Tasha. She returned his keen stare with a vague smile.

'I don't know. Do you?'

'You're from here,' continued the man. 'Aren't you? You were a sewer rat, like me.'

Tasha didn't alter her smile one iota. 'Now, what do you think a sewer rat from down here would be doing in a Starfleet uniform?'

The man narrowed his eyes. 'What, indeed?'

'I'm sure this is all immaterial,' Riker told the scrawny man. 'Now, if you don't mind, we'll be getting back to our ship.'

Tasha held her breath and closed her eyes as Riker ordered the transport. When she opened them again, the hideout and the accusatory eyes of the scrawny man had been replaced with the clean, crisp transporter room and the kindly, round face of Miles O'Brien. She let her breath out again in a long, controlled sigh. Riker gave her a celebratory slap on the shoulder.

'How do you feel?'

'Like I need a long, hot shower,' she grinned in reply, stepping down from the transporter.

'I know what you mean,' Beverly agreed. 'I can't believe you grew up in that Hellhole.'

'Oh,' Tasha replied, 'it's much nicer now than it used to be. Back in my day, it was an _authentic_ Hellhole.'

'Commander,' added Data, with an air of wonder, 'the manner in which you avoided the truth about your upbringing on the colony without actually telling an untruth…'

'Sneaky, huh?' Tasha interjected, with pride. 'Didn't want to give 'em any ammunition, but I do so hate to tell a bare faced lie.'

'It was… remarkable.' Data patted her on the shoulder himself, a little stiffly. 'Perhaps you could join one of Commander Riker's poker games? I believe that you would do well, since…'

'You're wasting your breath, Data,' Riker told him as the four of them stepped out into the corridor, 'I've been trying to persuade Tasha to the poker table for years now. Apparently, she doesn't see the point.'

'It's true!'

'You're just afraid I might beat you at something,' Riker goaded.

'Didn't Data beat you hands down last night?' interjected Beverly.

'In which case,' Data added, 'perhaps Tasha is also concerned that she would be beaten at the game by myself…'

Tasha stopped, and turned to face the pestering trio, her arms folded. 'Do I have permission to have that shower now, Sir? I can still smell Turkana IV, and it's making me want to punch people who won't shut up about poker.'

'What a curiously specific psychological response to an olfactory stimulus…'

'Of course,' replied Will over the muttering android. 'Take as long as you need.' Riker clasped her elbow before walking away. You did well down there, Tasha. We're all very proud of you.'

-x-

She should have known it wasn't over.

She should have known they'd find out about her.

This was Turkana, after all. She was revisiting her past, so why shouldn't her past make a little house call of its own?

She should have known.

She knew, the instant that she saw the girl lurking behind Hayne on the screen, who it was. She recognised those eyes, that mouth. And, for a moment, she was the only one who did know as Hayne blathered on, trying to ingratiate the Captain with niceties while the girl quietly stared out at her. Tasha looked down from the screen, her stomach sinking, her heart thumping… only to catch sight instead of Deanna Troi, gazing up at her in shock. Tasha exhaled miserably, wondering who would be the first to tell the rest of the Bridge – Hayne or Troi.

It turned out that it was neither. Hayne introduced the girl as a liaison to help retrieve the freighter crew, but not by name. It was Ishara who stepped forward and gave the Captain her name… her _full_ name. At the mention of Ishara's surname, Tasha felt the attention of the Bridge shift towards her. She bunched he fists, drew another deep breath and met eyes with the girl who she had not seen for fifteen long years, as Ishara calmly announced; 'Tasha Yar is my sister'.

With a heavy heart, she followed Picard's instructions to break communications. She knew what sort of comments and questions were to come once Ishara and Hayne couldn't hear them.

'Is she telling the truth?'

Data, never one to disappoint her expectations for his making an already awkward situation a hundred times worse, spoke up before she had chance to.

'It is impossible, Sir. Commander Yar's sister died while she was still on Turkana IV.'

Tasha turned her face deliberately away from Data. 'That is my sister, Captain. She's grown up a lot, but I'd still recognise her anywhere.'

'How can that be…?' Data muttered.

'She recognises you, too,' Deanna told her, over the android, 'although I can't ascertain how genuine she is in truly wanting to help us. Her emotions at seeing you again are overshadowing any feelings she may be having about the mission.'

'She's happy to see me…?' Tasha asked, quietly.

'Not exactly,' Deanna admitted, 'but I wouldn't say she was _un_happy either, if that makes things better.'

'We'll beam her up,' decided Picard. 'At this point, I think we can safely say that we need all the help we can get.' He paused, with a concerned gaze towards Tasha. 'Would you like to be the one to escort Ishara from the transporter room, Commander?'

Tasha shook her head, briskly. 'I think… it's… I don't believe I'm quite ready for that yet, Sir…'

'Well, it must be quite a shock,' Riker added, genially, 'a kid sister back from the dead, apparently…' he trailed off, noticing Deanna's warning glare.

'Very well,' continued Picard. 'Mr Data, if you wouldn't mind meeting our guest…'

Data got up from his post and walked across to the Turbolift, watching Tasha with confusion as he did.

'I do not enjoy family reunions either,' Worf told her, in a conciliatory tone.

Will, Deanna and the Captain gave a synchronised grunt of sympathetic agreement. Normally, that would have made her giggle, but it was going to take considerably more than that to lift her spirits. She bunched her fists tighter, and sighed.

-x-

'I'm surprised my sister didn't come to meet me.' Ishara looked about herself at the bright corridor as Data escorted her from the transporter room.

'It was suggested,' Data informed the young woman, 'but she declined.'

'Typical Tasha,' grunted Ishara. 'Always running away from her problems.'

'I do not believe that to be an adequate summary of Tasha's typical behaviour,' Data replied. 'And do you really consider yourself to be one of "her problems"?'

'We didn't exactly part on the best of terms.'

'But you are her kin.'

Ishara gave him a brief, cold smile. 'I don't suppose, being what you are, you'd understand much about sibling disputes.'

Data paused for a moment. 'I would not,' he told her, carefully copying a turn of phrase he'd learned from Geordi, 'be so certain about _that_.' He met eyes with her, momentarily, before walking on. 'It is a situation which would take a long time to explain, and I generally prefer not to do so. It does not cast my family in a particularly positive light…' He felt compelled to change the subject. 'There is one matter concerning yourself and Tasha which still confuses me, Ishara.'

'Being?'

'Tasha has only ever spoken of you once before, to my knowledge – during an intimate and, on her part, emotive conversation, following a personal misfortune of mine.'

'So?'

'In that conversation she informed me that you were dead – that she had lost you, along with her parents on Turkana IV. And yet, you are her, and she does not seem surprised to see that you are alive.'

'Well, that's easy to explain,' Ishara told him, plainly. 'She lied.'

Data blinked. 'But why would she do that?'

Ishara shrugged. 'To get something out of you.'

'She has never attempted to "get something out of me".'

'Hasn't she?' Ishara asked, vaguely.

'Besides,' Data continued, 'it is not in keeping with her to lie.' Data frowned, remembering her "twisting of the truth" on the away mission. 'Not to me, in any case.'

'If you say so,' Ishara muttered, and carried on walking.

-x-

There she was. Sitting at the table with… with _him_, of all people. Well, Tasha resolved, squaring her shoulders, she had put this off for long enough. She may as well just bite the bullet with the both of them.

Ishara looked up as she approached, and gave her sister an odd, forced smile. 'Tasha. So you've finally decided to come out of hiding and say hello.'

'Can't exactly co-ordinate a rescue plan with you if we're not talking,' Tasha mumbled.

'That's exactly what I've been saying,' Ishara replied.

'I still think we should come up with a plan that doesn't call for your help…' Tasha added.

'Well,' Ishara countered, 'you haven't. So it looks like you're stuck with me.'

Tasha pulled up a chair and sat down between Data and her sister. 'Hmm.'

'Don't you trust me either, Tasha? Your own sister?'

'I don't trust the Coalition,' Tasha stressed, 'and since you're one of them now, I guess that mistrust extends to you, too.'

'Ishara potentially may not be a member of the Coalition for much longer,' Data interjected. 'Would your trust in your sister be restored in that eventuality?'

Tasha looked from Data to Ishara. 'You're not leaving the Coalition?'

'Ishara has been considering the possibility of her leaving Turkana IV, and enrolling in Starfleet,' Data added.

'What?' Tasha asked, flatly. 'You're not serious.'

'I never knew it would be like this, up in the stars…' Ishara began.

'I _told_ you life would be better,' Tasha interrupted. 'I told you, and you wouldn't listen!'

'That was a long time ago,' replied Ishara. 'I was just a kid. I believed the gossip about Starfleet being this cold, Draconian machine, nothing but rules and regulations, looking down their noses at people like us… but look at this place, Tasha! Look at you!' Ishara reached out a hand to cover Tasha's wrist, but the older sister pulled her arm away. 'The achievements you've made just shows me how far a girl from the sewers of Turkana City can come in Starfleet.'

'Ishara has been keen to learn of your career,' Data added, 'she has responded with considerable admiration.'

'And you've been discussing all this with Commander Data, have you?'

'He's full of wonderful stories about you,' smiled Ishara. She moved her hand, still open on the table since her attempt to touch Tasha's wrist had been rejected, across to Data, and wrapped it around the crook of his elbow.

'I'll bet,' Tasha replied, watching her sister squeeze the arm of the unflinching android. 'You two have been getting pretty cosy recently, haven't you?'

'Data's been very sweet to me since I came aboard here. What can I say, Tasha? You have a great taste in friends.'

'Great taste in friends… great taste in career… great taste in lifestyle, right, Ishara?'

Ishara blinked. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'This is typical of you,' Tasha hissed, 'just typical. You show up out of nowhere and then you start taking over all of my stuff…'

'Hey! I never went anywhere – it's _you_ who just showed up out of the blue. And as for joining Starfleet, isn't that exactly what you wanted me to do with you in the first place?'

'What exactly,' Data added, 'did you mean by your "stuff"…?'

'Data,' sighed Tasha, rubbing her forehead, 'this is Sister Talk, OK? Would you mind giving Ishara and I a little privacy?'

'By all means, Tasha.' The android began to get up from the table.

Ishara didn't loosen her grip on his arm as he tried to rise. 'Data and I were having a conversation.'

'And now _we're_ having a conversation,' Tasha replied, 'since I appear to be in a much greater hurry than he is to get to the bottom of exactly what your little game is all about.'

'_My_ little game…?' Ishara looked up at the android, still in an uncomfortable looking half-standing position at the table, unsure whether to stay or leave, then returned her gaze to her sister. 'How exactly is it that I'm supposed to have died, Tasha? Both Data and I would rather like to know, since you were so very sure it had happened.'

Tasha made to glower at Data for letting Ishara know about her little white lie, but blinked instead in surprise. _He_ appeared to be glaring accusatorially at _her_. She looked away for a moment, a little shaken, and when she looked back, the expression had gone.

Ishara released his arm. 'Maybe Tasha and I could do with some time to ourselves after all, Data.'

Data nodded in agreement as he was finally allowed to straighten up. 'I am certain that you must have much to discuss.' He shot another strange look in Tasha's direction. 'I shall see you both at the mission briefing.'

Tasha watched him leave.

'You've got no cause to act so possessively, Tasha,' her sister told her.

'Who said anything about possessiveness?'

'Come on.' Ishara folded her arms. 'I know you. Machine or not, you'd never show that kind of disrespect towards somebody unless you'd had sex with them.'

'So that's why you've singled him out,' Tasha replied. 'To try to get under my skin.'

'I did no such thing. He's one of the few people on board this ship, thanks to your attitude towards my coming here, who talks to me normally, and isn't always on his guard around me. He trusts me…'

'So in other words, you're homing in on him because you think he's gullible…'

'_You_ told him I was dead!'

'I had my reasons for that.'

'I'd love to hear them.'

Tasha had no response to that.

'What is your problem, Tasha?' Ishara cocked her head at her sister. 'I'm working hard to help you get your crewmen back, aren't I? And as for showing an interest in your life, your vessel, your friends… is that really such a terrible thing for me to do?'

Tasha sighed down at the table. 'Are you really serious about joining Starfleet?'

'I don't know,' Ishara admitted. 'I haven't been thinking about it long. It's a possibility. If they'd have me, of course.'

'They'd have you,' Tasha grunted.

'You don't sound too thrilled by that. Would you rather I went back to the Coalition than try to make a life in Starfleet? Just bury myself under Turkana IV again and never resurface – would that make you happy?' Ishara sat back, folding her arms. 'Maybe you'd have been happier if I'd never turned up in the first place and you could go on pretending I was dead to get sympathy screws off your friend.'

'Don't you dare,' Tasha hissed. 'You don't know… you don't know how I worried about you.'

'You're right. I _don't_ know. Here we are, first time in fifteen long years, and you haven't so much as asked what I've been doing, if I'm OK, if I've been harmed…'

'Because I know what Turkana City is like,' Tasha replied. 'I knew what your life would be like when you stayed, I knew the sort of hardships and suffering you'd face. I was so certain that place would kill you… I grieved for you. In my mind, you were as dead as our parents. I guess, I thought that if I considered you dead, I wouldn't have to think that maybe you were being hurt.'

'How convenient for you,' retorted Ishara. 'So now I've inconvenienced you by showing up, alive and well, and breaking that fantasy, and how do you respond…? If I'm with the Coalition I can't be trusted, just because _you_ never liked them, and if I'm with Starfleet I'm _still_ not to be trusted because I'm just copying your life to tick you off. Right?'

'I…'

'Do you have any idea how selfish and petty you sound?' Ishara pushed herself away from the table. 'Maybe you'd like to think about that. As for me, if you don't mind, I have to help rescue your people, just like I told your Captain I would…'

'Your plan won't work,' Tasha interrupted. 'It can't work, and you know it.'

'Excuse me?'

'Beaming into the middle of Alliance territory and using your proximity implant to draw their fire? Do you really expect me to believe you'd volunteer to do something quite so stupid?'

'Maybe one woman's idea of "stupidity" is another's sense of duty,' Ishara retorted.

'It's just gonna get you killed,' insisted Tasha.

Ishara got to her feet, and turned away from her sister. 'What do you care, Tasha? You've killed me off once already.' Without letting Tasha get another word in edgeways, she walked away from the table. 'I'd probably do you a world of favours getting shot up for real.'


	13. Chapter 13

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

There's No Place Like Home, Part 2

-x-

Dr Crusher moved fast. Although she'd been at a monitor at the other end of the Sickbay when Riker had burst in with Tasha in tow, by the time the Commander had deposited Ishara's comatose form on the nearest operating table, the Doctor was already at their side, equipment in hand.

'What happened?'

'She was shot trying to draw the Alliance's fire away from us,' Riker told the Doctor.

'I warned her,' Tasha added. 'I _warned_ her…'

'I'm sure she was well aware of the risks even without your warning,' replied Riker.

'Did you manage to rescue the crewmen?' Crusher asked as she set to work on the injured young woman.

Riker shook his head. 'Not for lack of effort on anyone's part… least of all, Ishara.'

'I should've followed her,' Tasha fretted. 'Given her cover fire…'

'If you had, you'd have been facing a disciplinary hearing for disobeying my orders,' Riker assured her. 'Besides, how could you have followed her? She was off like a shot into the shadows the second we got there.'

'Never seen anyone move like that,' Tasha mumbled, 'just darting out into all that danger without a thought for their own back…'

Will put a supportive arm around Tasha's shoulder as they watched the medical staff cluster about the patient. '_I_ have.'

'Is she going to be OK?'

'I'm doing my best,' Crusher muttered. 'Her vitals are low.'

'No…' breathed Tasha. She tried to take a step towards her sister, but Riker held her back.

'Give Beverley some space, Tasha.'

'I'd appreciate it,' added the Doctor. 'Maybe you two should step outside for a while – I'll alert you as soon as I have any updates.'

'No…' Tasha repeated.

'Come on.' Will ushered her outside. He waited for the doors to shut behind them before adding, gently; 'She's in the best hands.'

'Why did she have to go and do something so stupid? Why did we _let_ her? We didn't even get the hostages back…'

'But,' Riker reminded her, 'thanks to the time your sister afforded us, Geordi should be able to pinpoint where we need to go next time.'

'Yeah.' Tasha hugged her arms about herself. 'Yeah. Ishara the Hero. And there was me refusing to trust her.'

'You had your reasons.'

'Did I?' Tasha looked up at Will. 'Or was I just reacting out of petty spite?'

Riker didn't reply.

'Ishara was the only thing in my life that was ever a constant,' Tasha told him. 'We'd pick up stray kids or animals from time to time, but they'd either get lost, or taken, or killed. For the most time it was just me and her. I cared for her. I did things you don't wanna think about to make sure she'd have food and water, and a place to sleep. And at the end of it, when I'd managed to get us a flight off the colony, when I begged her to let me take her away from that Hell… she turned her back on me, and went to _them._ The Coalition. And trust me, Will, those guys are no different to the Alliance in anything but name. If they'd got their hands on the escape pod, we'd be having exactly the same trouble with them.'

'I don't doubt it,' replied Will.

'She called them her family,' Tasha continued, 'and I'd be damned if that made me family by association. As far as I was concerned, she stopped being my sister that day. She just became another one of _them_, another part of Turkana IV, that I never, ever wanted to go back to again. But then here she was, all of a sudden, on my territory, talking to my friends… it's like she managed to interrupt my whole life just by her presence. And I didn't want to give her a chance.' She sighed. 'Was I too hard on her?'

'Whether you were or not doesn't really make any difference,' Riker replied, 'since you can't change it.'

Tasha looked at her feet. 'Guess not.'

The sickbay doors slid open, suddenly, and a nurse popped out her head.

'She's stable,' the nurse told the pair, hurriedly. 'She's got a few broken bones, but she'll be OK.'

Tasha sighed with relief as the nurse scurried back into the Sickbay.

'Well then,' added Riker, equally relieved, 'I guess what you _can_ change is how you respond to her now.' He paused. 'She's told me she wants to leave the Coalition – maybe sign up for Starfleet.'

Tasha nodded. 'She mentioned that to me too.'

'So,' Riker reasoned, 'she won't _be_ "one of them" any more. She won't be part of Turkana IV. She'll be part of our world – one of us. Who knows, she might even end up serving under you some day…'

Tasha smiled a little at the thought. 'She'd hate that.'

'So maybe it's time to start allowing yourself to see her as a sister again,' Riker suggested. 'After all, I'm pretty sure the reason so many people on board have taken such a shine to her is that when they look at her, they see a Yar.' He squeezed Tasha's shoulder. 'I know that's why I like her.'

Tasha quirked an eyebrow at him. 'She's a stubborn, antisocial, infuriating little hothead.'

'Like I said,' grinned Riker, '100 percent Yar.'

-x-

Tasha waited outside Sickbay as nonchalantly as possible, as though she just happened to be loitering there, and not as if she had requested that Dr Crusher let her know when her sister was about to leave for the Bridge. She even pretended to look surprised when Ishara stepped out into the corridor.

'Well, if the Human Bullseye isn't up and about already…'

'Hi, Tasha. Beverley said you'd be waiting for me.'

'Dammit, Crusher!' Tasha exclaimed.

'You're welcome,' came a distant voice from beyond the open Sickbay doors.

Ishara smirked. 'I like her. She's fun.'

Tasha shook her head in mock despair, and led her sister away from the Sickbay. 'So, how are you feeling?'

'OK,' Ishara shrugged. 'Just don't ask me to do any sit-ups for the next day or two. I know you were probably rooting for it to be fatal, but I'll try harder next time to…'

Tasha ground to a halt, spinning Ishara round by the arm to face her. 'You're an idiot, you know that, Ishara? You _knew_ it was dangerous, I _told_ you it was dangerous… do you have any idea what a fright you gave me?'

Ishara said nothing in reply, but stared at her sister, a faint, wistful smile creeping over her lips.

'What?' asked Tasha.

'You know,' muttered Ishara, 'that's the exact same thing you'd say back when we were kids, if I didn't stay in the hiding place you'd left me, or I got lost… same tone, same little crease in your forehead… everything.' She cocked her head. 'You really were worried, weren't you? You actually give a tiny rat's ass what happens to me.'

Tasha managed a smile. 'Well, of course I do, you little maniac.' She turned to start walking again. 'So, it sounds like we need to come up with a new plan to get our men out of Alliance territory, because if you think you're acting as live bait with that stupid implant again, you've got another thing coming, young lady…'

'Data and me have been knocking a few ideas about,' Ishara told her. 'He came to visit me…'

'Did he, now?' asked Tasha, archly.

'There you go again,' Ishara smiled. 'You know, I never had you pegged as the covetous type when we were kids.' She shot Tasha a sly glance. 'Relax - we're just friends. Although, I'll admit, I can see where you're coming from. He's so straight and orderly, I keep wanting to just lean over and ruffle him…'

Tasha pinched the bridge of her nose in embarrassment. 'Sis, please…'

Ishara poked her shoulder. 'You just called me "Sis".' She smirked. 'Caring about my wellbeing, accepting me on your ship, familial nicknames… watch out, Tasha, next thing you know, you'll be giving me a hug…'

'Have you always been this annoying?' Tasha smiled. 'You'd better not pester me this much once you've joined Starfleet.'

'So you even approve of that, now?'

'I think a Cadet's uniform would suit you,' shrugged Tasha. 'Besides which, you'd have to call me "Sir".'

Ishara pulled a face. 'Perhaps we should just concentrate on the task in hand for now.'

'You're probably right.' Tasha paused, turning to face her sister again. 'I'm sorry I said all those things about you, Ishara. I am glad to see you alive and well, truly I am.'

'It's OK. I haven't exactly had many kind words to say about you over the years, either.'

Tasha took Ishara's hand. 'I'm happy we found each other again. I do love you, you little idiot.'

For a second, Tasha was sure that her younger sister was about to cry. Ishara pulled her into a tight hug.

'I love you too, Tasha. I love you, too.'

-x-

Tasha grabbed hold of the pilot's wrist and helped him to his feet. The Alliance's hostages were hungry and frightened, but still alive, thanks to Ishara. With a smile, she turned to share a word or two of congratulation with her sister…

…but Ishara was gone.

'Ishara…?'

The others turned to frown at the spot where Ishara had been. It was as though she had simply vanished. Tasha's mind flashed quickly through possible scenarios. Perhaps she'd seen a guard approaching and tried to eliminate him on her own. Perhaps they'd been spotted and one of the Alliance had snatched her away from their party when their attention had been turned on the crewmen. Whatever it was, Ishara was likely to be in danger.

'We'll split up and find her,' Will announced, quickly. 'We don't have much time.' He nodded to the Klingon. 'Worf, get those crewmen beamed up to the Enterprise immediately. We'll be back as soon as we've found Ishara.'

Tasha didn't wait to hear anything else, but scurried off down a small tunnel, her phaser poised in front of her, her mind returning again and again to the image of Ishara's limp, injured body in Will Riker's arms.

She heard footsteps, and ducked behind a thick water pipe, folding her arms and legs tight into her body, the way she used to do when she was a girl. It wasn't until the two men had passed that she wondered why she had automatically hidden. Once their footsteps had faded, she darted out from behind the pipe and hurried through the tunnel, hugging the wall, until she came to a poorly lit intersection. Her heart thundering, she pressed her back against the corner and peered around. There was nobody to be seen. She ran out, making for a large pile of refuse, where again, she ducked down and hid.

She struggled to control her breathing, and asked herself silently why it was that she was suddenly so scared. It obviously had something to do with Turkana City, with the things she'd endured there before, she hadn't been so afraid the last two times she had beamed down – only now. Now that her friends weren't with her, and her sister had gone missing. Now that she was alone. It was just like the old days, she thought to herself, like the times when she and Ishara had been separated, and she'd found herself running and hiding, fretting over her sister's safety as well as her own… She'd had countless nightmares where exactly this had happened – where she'd suddenly found herself back on Turkana IV, alone and terrified. She bit her lip, and cast down her eyes.

In her nightmares, she had always been wearing the filthy rags she had run in as a child, but that wasn't what she was wearing now. She had on a Starfleet Officer's uniform, she reminded herself as she looked down at herself. This wasn't a nightmare - this was real. She wasn't a kid and she wasn't helpless, she told herself. She was armed, and she had means of communication.

She tapped her Comms badge. 'Yar to away team,' she hissed, 'any sign of her yet?'

There was a pause, before Tasha heard Data's voice speaking out of the tense silence, as hushed as hers had been.

'I believe I may have found her trail.'

Tasha exhaled, relieved as much at hearing a friendly voice as at the positive news. 'Where are you?'

'The main north tunnel.'

Tasha got to her feet, and turned to sprint north. 'On my way.'

She made fast work of the tunnels. One Alliance guard spotted her as she ran and began to draw his weapon, but she was on him with a blow to the chest and a concussing roundhouse kick to the head before he had had the chance to so much as aim. As she reached the north tunnel, she saw the flash of Will's red tunic far ahead of her. She quickened her pace once more, emboldened by the sight of her friend. He had stopped in the doorway of a large chamber. Ishara. It had to be her in there. Her heart leaping, she made the last few strides to catch up with Will at the doorway. Ishara was indeed standing in the chamber, a short distance from Data, alarm bells ringing all about them. They'd found her!

'Ishara!'

Startled, Ishara turned her head to the doorway. She drew breath, as if to say something.

And that was when Data shot her.


	14. Chapter 14

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

There's No Place Like Home, Part 3

-x-

'Ishara!'

Tasha ran forward to her sister's fallen figure. She glanced up at the android, who had calmly moved over to a large computer bank and set to work upon it. 'What have you done?'

'Ishara was about to fire at me,' Data explained, 'or else allow us all to perish in her destruction of the Alliance's defence system.'

'It was a con all along,' Riker added, softly. 'She got us to remove her proximity implant and take her right to the heart of Alliance territory, where she could sabotage to her heart's delight.'

Data ran his fingers over a few more buttons, and the shrieking computer bank fell silent. He nodded down at Ishara. 'She will not suffer any serious injury,' he added. 'My phaser was set to stun.'

Tasha picked up the weapon that her sister had dropped. 'Hers wasn't.' She stared down at the unconscious young woman, bitterly. '"Just wanted to ruffle him", huh? Damn you, Ishara.'

Riker patted Tasha's shoulder. 'We'd better get out of here. Commander Yar, once we're on board you'd better take your prisoner straight down to the Brig.'

Tasha picked her sister up off the ground, and propped her up against her shoulder. 'Of course.'

'Four to beam up.'

-x-

Tasha hadn't asked Data to help escort her sister to the transporter room, in order to deliver her back into Coalition territory, but he walked with them anyway. He had seen Ishara as a friend, Tasha reminded herself. He had been the first to show trust in her. He had been chewed up and spat out by Ishara no less than Tasha had. He probably did deserve to see her off the ship as well – it wasn't as though Tasha had anything to say to her conniving little sister, anyway. As it turned out, however, it seemed as though Data had nothing to say to her, either. The three of them walked most of the way in silence.

'You know,' Ishara announced, suddenly, 'in the long run, this whole thing really worked out in your favour. You got your men back, and you prevented me from carrying out my little covert mission. You thwarted both the Alliance _and_ the Coalition. If anything, you should be pleased…'

'Oh yes,' snorted Tasha. 'I'm sure that in a few months, you and I will be able to meet over coffee, look back on this and laugh.'

'Come on, Tasha,' Ishara replied. 'You couldn't really see me in a Starfleet uniform, could you?'

'I know you probably won't believe me,' Tasha replied, 'but yes. I really could. But that's beside the point.'

Ishara just pursed her lips, and carried on walking.

'You used me,' Tasha told her sister. 'You forced a reconciliation with me that you didn't mean, just to suit your own cynical ends.'

'I did mean it,' Ishara replied, 'with both of you.' She turned to the android. 'Data, I did feel a genuine friendship with you.'

'I find that difficult to believe,' Data replied with an uncommon terseness.

Ishara turned her attention back to Tasha. 'And you, Tasha…? I honestly did want to make peace with you. I was telling the truth when I said I was proud of your achievements in Starfleet. I really am. You've come so far… but at the cost of your homeworld. And that's the difference between you and me. I'll never abandon Turkana IV. I'm just trying to straighten out the mess that you left behind.'

'Don't you dare,' Tasha warned.

Ishara folded her arms as they approached the door to the transporter room. 'Guess I probably won't see either of you ever again.'

Tasha arched an eyebrow. 'You think…?'

'It's kinda sad,' Ishara added, stepping onto the transporter. 'I do really like you, Data. And you, Tasha…? You'll always be my sister.'

'You're no sister of mine.'

'Don't say that, Tasha.'

'I had a sister once, but you're not her. Guess she really did die down there after all.'

If Tasha was hoping to bring Ishara to tears, she was to be sorely disappointed. The younger woman pulled up her shoulders, took a deep breath and calmly replied 'Goodbye, Tasha'.

'Energise.'

Tasha didn't break defiant eye contact with Ishara until she had fully dematerialised. Only when her sister was gone did she sigh deeply and close her eyes, pushing her hands through her short hair. She turned to face where the android had been.

'Listen, Data…'

But Data had already left.

-x-

She found him in his quarters, where he politely invited her in as though nothing of note had just occurred. She noticed with a frown that he had a paintbrush in his hand as he did so.

'You're painting?'

'Yes.'

She blinked a couple of times as he set back to work on an intricate still life of a pot of geraniums.

'Now? You've decided that right now is a good time to paint?'

'I am off duty,' Data reminded her. 'What I choose to do with my free time is my own business, is it not?'

Tasha took a seat in one of his needlessly uncomfortable chairs. 'Data, you seemed pretty ticked off back there. You had every right to be. Didn't you want to talk about it?'

'I did not believe that you would wish to have such a conversation in a public area. And I was not "ticked off".'

Tasha indicated to the room about her. 'Well, we're not in public now.' She paused. 'Data, you've barely breathed a word to me since Ishara so much as showed her face.'

'You lied to me,' Data replied, not taking a moment away from his painting.

'So did Ishara, tenfold.' Tasha gave a sour, mirthless smile. 'Some family you must take us for.'

'Ishara misdirected all of us, on Hayne's orders, for the perceived benefit of her faction.' Data paused to clean his brush. 'You, conversely, told an unnecessary lie to me alone, on the day following my daughter's death, of your own volition, for the benefit of… in fact, I cannot yet fathom how you believed that it would benefit anybody. If I were capable of becoming "ticked off", as you put it, which I am not, it would most likely be directed at you, rather than your sister.'

Tasha shook her head. 'How does she do it, Data? She's sold us all upriver, she's proved herself to be entirely untrustworthy, and still she's still getting her way.' Thoroughly annoyed, she got to her feet. 'Don't you see? She poisoned you against me so that she could get to you. She thought you were gullible, that's why she zoned straight in on you. She knew you had a history with me, she admitted it herself. It was so easy for her to drive a wedge between our friendship and offer a handy shoulder to cry on… if you did any crying, that is.'

'Do you agree that I am gullible?' Data asked, continuing to paint. 'That does appear to be an apt description of my social intelligence, considering the ease and regularity with which I have been deceived recently.'

'You _are_ angry at her,' replied Tasha, 'aren't you?'

'I am incapable of anger. I have reminded you of this fact many times.'

Tasha tilted her head a little at him, a horrible thought coming into her mind. 'Exactly how far did my sister take this act of "closeness" with you?'

There was a shrill clatter as Data dropped his paintbrush into a water cup and turned to her.

'What is your insinuation?'

'I wouldn't put it past her,' Tasha continued, 'and it would explain the strength of your reaction now.'

'I was not aware that I was reacting strongly.'

'Just tell me what the deal was between you and my sister.'

'We did not make any "deals"…'

'Will you stop beating about the bush and just tell me?'

'I do not know to what you are...'

'Just tell me,' Tasha seethed. 'I have to know whether you let her fuck you too.'

There was an overlong pause as they stared at each other from opposite sides of the room.

'I was not aware,' said Data, eventually, 'that that was your perception of our relationship – that I am an object, which allows you to perform crude, basic sexual acts upon from time to time.'

'That's not what I meant,' replied Tasha, softly.

'But that was the meaning suggested by your comment, was it not?'

'I didn't…'

'What was the intended outcome of your falsehood the day after Lal died? Were you also attempting to manipulate me somehow, as Ishara did?'

'I was trying to help you, Data! For pity's sake, it was one little lie. Why is that the end of the world?'

'Your lie has no apocalyptic implications,' Data replied. 'However, I consider it to be very serious – more so than Ishara's dishonesty, since I only knew Ishara for a matter of days, and it is extremely doubtful that I shall see her again. You, however, I have known, worked with and had a unique, occasionally sexualised friendship with, for over four years. Our positions aboard this vessel require us to work closely together, and to have trust in one another. You have proved yourself to be deceitful to me. How can I now trust anything that you tell me, or have told me in the past?'

'Such as…?'

Data paused for a moment. 'When the Captain had been taken, and we were readying the ship to rendezvous at Wolf 359... you claimed that you could fall in love with me. That was also a lie, was it not? It makes no sense otherwise.'

Tasha pushed back her fringe in exasperation. 'You know what, Data? Sure. Sure, I was lying. My emotions were all over the place, I thought we had hours left to live… so let's just say that I lied, shall we? You were so desperate to reject it anyway, now you don't have to worry about having hurt my feelings. Happy now?'

'I am never "happy". Besides, I am also aware that you might, in fact, be lying _now_.'

'How can somebody who claims to have no ego be capable of such monumental self-absorption?' Tasha squeezed the bridge of her nose. 'I lied that Ishara was dead for what I thought were the right reasons at the time. If you disagree with that, then I apologise, OK? I don't know what else I can do to make you feel better about it, and frankly, Data, I don't have the energy to pay it the amount of attention that you obviously are. I just gained a sister and lost her again over a couple of days, but not before she used her relationship to me to try and screw us all over. Of all the people on board who I could imagine might know what a kick in the stomach that is, Data, it would be you…'

'Are you comparing Ishara to Lore, Tasha? I do not believe that that is a fair evaluation.'

'I wasn't saying Ishara was as bad as Lore, Data, I just…' she faltered. 'I just expected, maybe…' she sighed. 'What exactly _did_ I expect? A little sympathy, perhaps? But, of course, you can't feel sympathy, can you?'

'That is correct,' nodded Data, picking up his paintbrush again. 'Perhaps, if you are seeking sympathy, you should look for it elsewhere.'

'You know what, Data?' Tasha asked, as she turned to leave his quarters, 'that's just fine by me.'

-x-

'Penny for them?'

Alone at her table, Tasha looked up suddenly from her coffee cup, apparently startled by Picard's voice drawing her out of her thoughts. He gave her a sympathetic smile.

'I'm sorry,' he added, 'did you want to be alone?'

'I hardly ever do,' Tasha replied. 'I just keep finding myself that way.'

'Then may I keep you company?'

'Please.'

He sat down at her table. There was a long silence as Tasha gazed down at her cup.

'I feel like everybody's looking at me differently,' Tasha mumbled, eventually. 'As if Ishara's deception means that I'm not to be trusted either, by proxy.'

'I assure you, that isn't the case.'

Tasha ran a fingernail through a spilled droplet of coffee, her expression darkening. 'It is as far as _he's_ concerned.'

Picard took a sip of his tea. He could hazard a pretty good guess as to which "he" she was referring.

'I imagine he's just very been left very confused by Ishara's duplicity. He doesn't know how to react.'

'You'd think he'd understand a thing or two about familial betrayal by now,' added Tasha.

'Actually,' Picard replied, 'in a way, I'm rather grateful that deceit still takes him unawares, if it means that Lore, for all the damage he's done, hasn't been able to make a cynic of him… hasn't been able to make him any less…' Picard trailed off.

'…any less Data,' completed Tasha. 'I suppose so. Doesn't make things any easier for me, though.' She paused. 'I thought perhaps going back down to Turkana IV would help me face down my past, lay some of my demons to rest. Boy, was I ever wrong about that. All this mission did was raise more spectres.'

'You _did_ overcome your past,' Picard argued gently. 'You mustn't let Ishara's manipulation of us all lessen the personal achievements you made, just by beaming down there…' he trailed off again, noticing that the Blonde's eyes were shining with pent-up tears.

She continued to look down at her cup, a tightly bunched fist pressed hard against her lips as she struggled to keep herself from crying.

'Why is it,' she whispered through the strain of control, 'that every time I tell somebody that I love them, that I so much as _suggest_ it, they turn me away? Am I really so poisonous?'

'Of course you aren't.' Picard sighed. 'Perhaps this is something you'd be wiser to speak with Counsellor Troi about.'

'You're right.' Tasha cleared her throat, blinking hard to rid herself of the tears. 'I'm sorry, Sir. This isn't your problem to worry about.'

'On the contrary,' the Captain replied, 'I'm glad that you feel able to be so candid with me. I just wish that there was some practical help that I could give you…' He blinked. 'Actually… perhaps there is. Some time ago now, I suggested that you should join me for an adventure on the Holodeck - an agreement that, so far, I've neglected to realise. You must think me terribly rude.'

'I know you're busy.'

'Actually,' replied Picard, 'I was considering making use of the Holodeck tomorrow evening. Nothing quite like stepping out of oneself to clear the head, I always find. Besides which, I'm getting tantalisingly close to the finale of my current mystery, and an extra brain would certainly come in handy for helping me to wrap it up.'

Tasha managed a small, grateful smile. 'Really?'

'It would be my pleasure.' He finished off his tea and stood up to leave. 'Holodeck Four, tomorrow, nineteen hundred hours prompt.'

Tasha laughed a little. 'Aye, Sir.'

'Oh, and Commander…?'

'Sir?'

'Wear a skirt.'


	15. Chapter 15

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Merde, He Wrote. Part 1

-x-

A thick fog had rolled in over the city's streets, blotting out the sun so that day was almost as dark as night. Only the foolhardy dared to drive in fog like that, although Frisco was hardly lacking in such maniacs. The thick, cloying air was filled with the shrill yelps of angry automobile horns and people alike as the city continued to bustle, blinded and stifled by the dense, damp fog.

There would be plenty of trouble today, of course. Tempers were frayed, visibility was obscured… there was always trouble on days like this.

Come to think of it, there was always trouble on most days for Dixon Hill, and, God help him, he wouldn't have it any other way.

His secretary was already at the reception to his office when he stepped inside, marvelling at how the atmosphere managed to be even more oppressive than it had been on the street. The woman barely looked up from her magazine as he hung up his hat and jacket.

'Any word yet from Jimmy Three Fingers?'

'Nope,' muttered the secretary.

Dixon clucked with impatience. 'He should have gotten back to me by now.'

'Well, he ain't.'

'I'm so close to cracking this.' Hill began to roll his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. 'I need that lead!'

'What d'you want _me_ to do about it?'

'What about Sane Charlie? Anything from him?'

'Nada,' replied his secretary, flicking through her magazine pages disinterestedly, 'zippo, zilch.'

'Seriously?' Dixon frowned to himself. 'No calls? No visits? This close to the end? That's not right.'

'Oh, you do have a visitor,' the secretary replied. 'A pair of legs with a Blonde attached to 'em. She's waiting in your office.'

'Ah!' Dixon beamed, happily. 'I know who _that_ is.'

'I'm sure you do,' his secretary told her magazine.

He opened the door to his office. His secretary was not wrong. The Blonde's coquettishly crossed legs just went on and on until Doomsday. The owner of the legs in question looked up from a notebook with a nervous smile.

'Will this do?'

Dixon folded his arms with an appreciative nod. 'I'll say.'

'Sorry I'm early,' replied the Blonde. 'Your secretary told me I could wait…'

'She said she was a friend of yours,' butted in the secretary from behind Dixon.

'Oh, this little lady is much more than just a friend,' he replied.

'Ya don't say.'

'This is my niece,' Hill put his hand on the blonde's shoulder. 'The noted Girl Detective Dollis Hill.'

His secretary arched an eyebrow as she went back to her reading. 'Ain't never heard of no "niece" before...'

Dixon shut the door as Dollis got up from his chair.

'I thought I was supposed to be famous,' Dollis frowned.

'Not in Dixon Hill's world, as such,' explained her uncle, 'Dollis is based in the suburbs of Los Angeles. Her world is less seedy and perilous – more suitable for younger readers. But you did have three novels worth of adventures…'

Dollis snorted slightly, unconvinced. 'So, is this our case?' she asked, holding Dixon's notes up to him.

'The case of the Bombay Star,' nodded Dixon.

'Isn't that the same mystery you were working on months ago?'

'I _have_ been a little distracted of late,' Dixon reminded her, 'and I'm extremely close to the end now.'

Dollis went back to the notes. 'Looks pretty involved…'

'Oh, yes.' Dix perched on the edge of his desk. 'It's quite the rabbit hole. It feels like an age ago that Ernest Tewkesbury came to me to find his wife's stolen necklace. Since then a gargantuan plot has unravelled before me. Three of the Tewkesbury family have been murdered, including Sir Ernest himself; a jealous mistress has appeared from the woodwork and promptly fallen beneath a speeding train; at one point I found myself Shanghaied, if you can believe…'

'I can't really picture you swabbing the deck, Sir,' giggled Tasha.

Picard shook his head at her. 'Try to stay in character, Tasha. None of this "Sir" business here.'

Dollis cleared her throat. 'Sorry, Uncle Dix.'

'Where was I…?' continued Dixon. 'Ah, yes. All the clues I've managed to collate so far are pointing towards the Bloom Brothers Gang – a highly unpleasant drugs smuggling cartel. When I was here last I hired a couple of low-level miscreants to find out everything they could about the Bloom Brothers' whereabouts from their network of underworld associates.' Dixon frowned. 'I really should have heard back from at least one of them by now.'

'Maybe they got caught out,' Dollis ventured.

'Both of them?' Dixon added, 'separately? That's highly unlikely.'

Dollis shrugged. 'One of them got caught, the other found out and decided it was too hot for him, so he bailed on you.'

Dixon paused. 'That's a far more probable explanation.'

'So,' reasoned Dollis, 'surely our next course of action is either to wait it out for the Bloom Brothers to beat it out of this guy who sent him and come looking for you, or we go out and try to find them ourselves.'

'They could be anywhere. San Francisco's a big city.'

'And you've got a lot of clues.' Dollis waved the notebook at her uncle yet again. 'There must be something in here that'd give you a hint of where to look for them.'

Dixon frowned for a moment. 'The dockyard,' he announced after his brief rumination. 'Sir Tewkesbury's body was found not far from there, and the ropes used to tie Celeste Tewkesbury's hands had dried sea water on them.'

'Then to the dockyard it is.' Dollis was practically out of the door as she spoke. 'I didn't come here to sit around your office all day.' She shot him an impish glance over her shoulder. 'I just hope that you can keep up, "Uncle".'

-x-

Dixon stopped for the third time and waited for the young woman to catch up with him.

'Looks like your old uncle is faster than you gave him credit for,' he called as she approached him at an irritable, lopsided trot.

'This outfit is ridiculous!' Dollis complained. She stopped, and struggled to straighten a rumpled stocking. 'My knees are pinched together by this dumb dress, these hose keep falling down and would you look at these shoes?' She pulled off one of her heeled pumps to massage the ball of her foot against a smooth cobblestone. 'How did women ever do any running in those days?'

'They tended not to,' Dixon told her. 'It was generally considered unseemly for a lady to do anything that caused her to sweat.'

'That's stupid.' Tasha mopped her brow with the back of her sleeve. 'And to think Deanna's always asking me why I never wear skirts.'

'More's the pity.'

'Enjoy the legs when you can, Jean Luc.' Tasha tugged at her skirt, covering up the previously exposed garter. 'As soon as this is done, they're going straight back into a pair of pants, where they belong.'

'Remember your character,' Picard reminded her. 'And for the record, I am enjoying your legs' outing – temporary as that may be.'

'You're supposed to be my uncle,' she replied, primly, replacing her shoe. '_Now_ who's coming out of character?'

Dixon looked about himself as he tried, and failed, to come up with a suitably witty retort. The mist had still not cleared, and made the streets strange with a thick grey haze… this particular street, however, was stranger still. He couldn't see too clearly through the fog, but something about it seemed… wrong.

'Whoever thought that cobbled streets were a good idea in the first place?' Dollis grumbled as he thought.

He blinked, and stared down at the ground. 'That's a good point,' he murmured.

'They're impossible to balance on in these stupid heels…'

'Why is the street cobbled?' Dixon asked himself aloud. He looked up again. 'Dollis? Does this street seem a bit odd to you?'

Dollis looked about herself. 'It's narrower than the other streets,' she noted. She pointed up at an ornate lamppost; 'and the lights are different.'

Dixon squinted through the mist. 'Is that… is that a gas light?'

Before Dollis had chance to reply, a scrawny, hunched man pushed past them and sprinted wildly off into the fog.

Dixon recognised him, a moment too late. 'That was Sane Charlie.'

'One of your contacts?'

Dixon nodded, beginning a pursuit. 'Who was he running from?'

'Not more running…' grumbled his niece, following suit.

Dixon could see the silhouette of Sane Charlie fade in and out of the mist as he chased him. He tried calling for the other man to stop, but to no avail. Something must have scared Charlie out of the few wits the poor devil had left. The fog enveloped Charlie once more, and then a gunshot rang out. Dixon skidded to a halt, holding out an arm to stop Dollis in her tracks. Dixon reached beneath his jacket for his gun. Dollis searched her own outfit for a weapon, and cursed beneath her breath at finding none.

'Charlie?' Dixon called out into the blank greyness.

'Show yourself,' replied a voice from the mist – a voice that was categorically not Charlie's. 'I am armed, and I assure you, I never miss my target. Even blinded by this confounded fog, I can judge your whereabouts by your voice...'

'Who are you?' Dollis called. 'Why did you shoot Sane Charlie?'

There was a momentary pause. 'I did no such thing. I was merely trying to apprehend the man. As for whom I am…' a man in a thick, woollen cape stepped through the fog into view, 'I flatter myself that I need no introdu… Oh.'

'Oh,' echoed Dixon and Dollis, as all parties concerned lowered their weapons.

'What,' puzzled a most confused looking Sherlock Holmes, 'if you do not mind my asking, are you doing here?'

'I was just about to ask you the same question.'

'I am attempting to solve,' replied Holmes, dramatically, 'The Mystery of the Bombay Star.'

Dixon and Dollis exchanged glances. 'So are we.'

Holmes blinked, and frowned, slipping out of his brash demeanour as he did so, and into a persona that was considerably more collected and courteous. 'Sir…?'

'What exactly is Sherlock Holmes doing in a Dixon Hill adventure?' Dollis asked him.

'With respect,' Data replied, 'this is not a Dixon Hill mystery, but one created by the Holodeck computer…'

'…for Dixon Hill,' completed Picard.

Data shook his head. 'I do not believe so, Sir. Dixon Hill is based in 1940s San Francisco, whereas this…' the android pointed to a nearby red pillar post-box, embossed with a royal insignia, 'is clearly London of the early 1900s.'

'But this _was_ San Francisco,' argued Tasha, 'only a few minutes ago. 'we just turned the corner, and here you were with all of this froofy Victorian stuff.'

'Edwardian,' corrected Data, breaking into Holmes again. 'The year is Nineteen Hundred and Four; the dear old Queen has been buried now for three years, God rest her soul, and King Edward VII is upon the throne…'

'Please don't do the accent,' Tasha interrupted.

'This is a suitable voice for London's Great Detective…' replied Holmes with a snap.

'It's annoying.'

'That is your issue, Madam. I am attempting to remain in character as appropriate…'

'Look.' Picard pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. 'There's obviously been some sort of error with the Holodeck computer. It must have mixed up my latest mystery simulation with yours…'

'There have been some similar problems lately with double-booked parties using related simulations on the Holodeck stumbling accidentally upon one another,' Data informed him. 'Only last month, Geordi was attempting to take Lieutenant Blackburn on a moonlight sail in the Adriatic Sea when his yacht was boarded by seventeen children enjoying a Pirate adventure. Lieutenant Barclay is working on the malfunction.'

'That goes towards explaining matters,' Picard replied. 'Looks like we ended up "double-booked".'

'Indeed,' nodded Data. 'Perhaps you and Commander Yar could return after I have finished, Sir. You can count on me not to tell you how the adventure ends.'

'Now, wait a minute,' answered Picard. 'Tasha and I have been here for nearly half an hour so far, and…'

'I have been here for four hours, Sir,' Data replied, plainly, 'thirteen minutes and twenty-f…'

'Four hours straight on the Holodeck?' Tasha interrupted him. 'Don't you have anything else to do?'

'I have been advised that I should "throw myself in to something",' the android told her, 'following yesterday's… unfortunate events.'

Data cast Tasha what could have almost as passed as a reproachful glare. Tasha just rolled her eyes away from his gaze.

'Therefore,' continued Data, 'I spent much of last night partaking in this simulation, and intend to do so again this evening. It is refreshing to be faced with a puzzle which I _am_ capable of solving.'

'Nevertheless,' interjected Picard, '_I_ have been working on the case of the Bombay Star for several months now. It was originally intended as a further Dixon Hill adventure, and I would appreciate being allowed to complete it first, since I am so close to the end.'

'I am also reaching the denouement of this mystery, Sir.'

'Ah,' Picard wagged his finger at the android with a wry smile. 'You may well think that's the case, Mr Data, but this is a plot with more twists and turns than a sidewinder on Lombard Street. What point are you up to?'

'I have deduced that the theft of Lady Tewkesbury's necklace was, in actuality a Red Herring – that, in fact, the various misfortunes of the Tewkesbury family, as well as Sir Tewkesbury's mistress, are the result of young Cedric Tewkesbury's involvement with the nefarious dealings of the infamous Bloom Brothers Gang. My attempts to acquire underworld knowledge of the gang's behaviour and whereabouts, by bribing petty criminals James Michelson and Charles Pratt – the gentleman who was running from me earlier – have not been successful, but I have reason to believe that the gang may well be based at the dockyard, and have therefore…'

'That's where _I_ am,' Picard interrupted, a little dismayed. 'You've been playing this since yesterday and you've already got up to the same point as me?'

'I work very fast, Sir.'

Tasha scoffed a little. Data turned his attention back to her.

'And what is your role in this circumstance, Commander? I have not known you to indulge in a narrative Holodeck simulation before.'

'Tasha is my guest this evening,' Picard told Data, quickly. 'Mr Holmes, may I introduce to you my niece, Dollis.'

'Madam…' greeted Holmes, before swiftly falling out of character again. 'Dollis Hill, Sir?' Data addressed Picard, with an air of incredulity. 'The protagonist of "The Mystery of the Thirteenth Door", "The Clue of the Satin Ribbon" and "The Haunted Arcade"?'

'The very same.'

Data glanced Dollis up and down. 'You are aware, are you not, that Dollis Hill is, at her oldest, nineteen years of age?'

'And…?' asked Dollis, folding her arms, menacingly.

'You are not a teenager, Tasha. Neither do you have the appearance of one.'

'Funnily enough,' Tasha retorted, 'I can't remember reading the part where Holmes looks like he's about to collapse from jaundice at any second…'

'…and in "The Scarlet Monkey", Dix is described as having a thick head of ash blond hair,' volunteered Picard, growing desperate, 'so let's not get in to who looks the part here and who doesn't. I'd like to just get on with the programme.'

'Why don't you let us finish first, Data,' Tasha suggested, 'and then as soon as we're done, you can complete it as Holmes. We won't tell you the ending.'

'Do you expect me to believe that, Commander?'

Yar sighed. 'Oh, here we go…'

'I have an alternative suggestion,' Picard butted in before the proto-argument could escalate any further. 'Since we are at the same stage of the mystery, and since this simulation seems to be able to accommodate both Dixon Hill and Holmes' worlds, perhaps… perhaps both investigators could collaborate in order to solve this particular case.'

'Hmm.' Holmes put a thoughtful finger to his lips. 'Holmes does prefer to work with company, and since Dr Watson is indisposed at present… would it not be unsuitable to cross the fictional realities?'

'We've already got Hill & Hill working on this case tonight,' shrugged Dixon. 'Why not Hill, Hill & Holmes?'

'Holmes, Hill & Hill,' corrected Holmes.

'Great,' grumbled Dollis. 'So, now what? Didn't our lead just get shot five minutes ago?'

'Not necessarily, Miss Hill,' Holmes replied. 'There was a gunshot from the mist, but as I recall, the two of you assumed it was I who had fired, when I did not.'

'I hadn't even drawn my gun,' added Dix.

'At least you've _got_ a gun…' Dollis complained.

'Dollis Hill never carries a gun,' replied Data. 'Nor does she ever have need to fire one, since her adventures are, in comparison to both Dixon Hill and Holmes, fairly uneventful.'

'What do you mean, "uneventful"?'

'The best selling of her three novels was about the recovery of a wealthy Debutante's abducted Chihuahua.'

'Well, I'm sure the great Sherlock Holmes can't imagine the indignity of having his most famous mystery revolve around a _dog_…'

'Data, Tasha… could we please try to stay in character?'

'Apologies, Mr Hill.'

'So,' continued Dix after taking a moment to recover his train of thought, 'if it wasn't either of us who fired, then who was it? Surely, a common enemy would have made attempts on our lives, too.'

'Sane Charlie knew that Holmes was looking for him as well as us,' reasoned Dollis, 'and whatever he knew, I reckon he'd been intimidated so that he wasn't willing to tell any of us anything. He found himself cornered in the fog, trapped between us and Holmes, so he shot into the air and fled during the resulting distraction.'

'Almost, Miss Hill,' mused Holmes, 'almost. However, there is one crucial detail which you have missed. There was no sound of running footsteps after the gunshot fired. Charles was wearing hobnail boots, which on cobbles make quite a racket when one runs, let me assure you. No. He did not run.'

'He's hiding,' Dixon added. 'He's still here.'

All three sleuths heard the strangulated gasp of terror at the same time. As one, they turned their heads in the direction of the sound - a set of dustbins, standing a few inches away from the wall.

'Charlie…?' Ventured Dixon.

'Mr Pratt?' Holmes added as the trio gingerly approached the bins, 'I assure you, we mean you no harm…' Nevertheless, Holmes kept his revolver trained on the dustbins.

Dollis reached the hiding place first, and gently pulled a dustbin lid away to reveal the trembling, scrawny wretch, an empty-barrelled revolver at his feet.

'Whatchoo talkin' 'bout there?' gibbered the hunched Cockney. 'Wossat about all "character" and "Hollydecks", eh?'

Dixon shook his head in a placatory manner. 'It was nothing, Charlie. Just a little joke between my friends and me.'

'You're trying to confuse me,' Charlie stammered, 'intcha? Trying to make me think I'm crazy. I ain't crazy! Don't let 'em tell you I'm crazy!'

'Of course you're not crazy, Charlie.' Dollis gave Sane Charlie a kind pat on the shoulder. 'Everybody knows, you're perfectly sane. We wouldn't call you Sane Charlie if we didn't, would we?'

'I _am_ Sane,' insisted Sane Charlie. 'Don't let them tell you I ain't. Don't let 'em send me back ter that place…'

Dixon leaned in close to Charlie. 'You know something, don't you, Sane Charlie? That's why you hid.'

'N…no…' stuttered Charlie. 'Don't know nuffink.'

'I think you do,' replied Dixon, 'only something's got you scared. Something's causing your mind to… to start playing tricks on you.'

'My mind ain't playing tricks! I'm sane! I am! I'll tell yer…' Charlie craned his neck around, peering feverishly into the fog. 'T'aint safe here… people watching out…'

'There is a vacated shop just across the street,' Holmes nodded at a small, desolate looking building over the road. 'You may tell us what you know in safety and privacy there.

Charlie nodded in agreement, and the four of them scurried over to the abandoned shop. A quick thump from Holmes' elbow against the lock opened the door up nicely, and they slipped inside. Charlie relaxed visibly once they were out of the open. He shot Dollis a nervous smile.

'Who's the girl?'

'Dollis Hill: Girl Detective,' greeted Dollis, proudly extending her hand.

'She is a spin-off,' added Holmes as Charlie attempted to chivalrously kiss the girl's hand, but ended up with a firm handshake instead, 'and a not particularly successful one at that.'

'"Dollis Hill"…?' repeated Charlie, apparently failing either to hear or comprehend Holmes' momentary foray beyond the 4th Wall. He gave a shy laugh. 'I 'ad an Auntie from near there.'

Dollis frowned in confusion.

'Dollis Hill was named after an area of North-West London,' Data told her, quietly. 'Most likely, in fact, after the underground railway station of the same name situated there, not far from the building in which the publisher of the first of her adventures was…'

'I'm named after a railway station?' Tasha repeated in despair. She turned to Picard. 'You never told me I had a Comedy Name…'

'I don't think that really matters right now…' placated Picard.

'Of course it matters! I thought I was supposed to be a serious trailblazer, now I find out I'm just some cash cow with a punning name…?'

Charlie whimpered a little, backing slightly away from them. 'You're doing it again. Talking all funny, like…'

'Charlie,' sighed Dix. 'I'm sorry.' He put a calming hand on the terrified Cockney's shoulder, while giving the other two a loaded glare. 'Let's get back to business, shall we? No more of this silly talk.'

'What has caused you to believe you are not safe, Mr Pratt?' Holmes interjected. 'Who are the people that you believe to be watching you?'

Sane Charlie frowned down at the floor, then from side to side, nervously.

'They got Jimmy Three Fingers.'

'The Bloom Brothers?' specified Dixon.

'They said he'd been asking too many questions for their liking.' Charlie lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. 'They said they're going to cut off another one of his fingers.'

'How dreadful,' replied Dollis. 'Now he'll have to change his name.'

'They took him to Aldous Bloom's boat…'

'A boat!' chorused Dixon and Holmes in a unison of sudden comprehension.

'We were so close with the dockyard,' added Dix.

'Only…' interjected Charlie. He stopped, embarrassed, and stared down at his feet again.

'Only what?' prompted Dollis.

Charlie shook his head, cringing unhappily. 'You're going to hate me. You're going to be so upset with me…'

'No we won't, Charlie,' soothed Dollis.

Suddenly, there was the sound of several pistols being cocked from the dark shell of the shop behind them.

'Oh,' sang a syrupy voice from behind their backs, 'I really think you will.'

Dix felt the cold muzzle of a revolver press against the small of his neck. A quick glance to the side confirmed that Dollis and Holmes were in similar predicaments. To the other side oozed the smug features of Algernon Bloom.

'Messers Hill _and_ Holmes,' smarmed Algernon as his Heavies took the detectives' firearms from their hands. 'What a distinguished honour, gentlemen. And such a delightful ladyfriend with you to boot. Oh, we are going to have a marvellous time together, simply _marvellous_.'

'Charlie,' breathed Dix, 'what have you done? Did you lead them here? Was… was this a trap all along…?'

Sane Charlie looked slowly up from the floor. He was no longer hunched or trembling. He was, for the first time Dixon had ever seen him, utterly collected and calm. He looked each of the captured trio in the eye, one by one, with a knowing smile, lighting a cigarette as his gaze rested on Dollis.

'Sorry about that, folks,' he breezed, blowing a smooth ring of smoke, 'but it's a grim old world out there. I know which way my bread's buttered.' He gave Dollis a sly wink before turning away and leaving them to Bloom's gang. 'After all, like I told yer – I ain't mad.'


	16. Chapter 16

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Merde, He Wrote. Part 2

-x-

Algernon Bloom didn't bother to blindfold his captives as they were driven to the marina – there was little point, since the fog still obscured all but the closest landmarks. The automobile alone was suggestion enough that they were not about to remain in 1904 for long, and as they drove, Dixon noticed that they were once again in San Francisco. This didn't cheer him as much as he thought it would – if the Blooms were based on Hill's adversaries rather than Holmes', he was sure that he could expect far greater levels of sadism at their hands, and far fewer cups of tea. The car pulled to a stop alongside a jetty and the three captives were roughly bundled out.

'What are you doing?' Hissed Dollis as they were jostled at gunpoint towards a dinghy at the end of the jetty.

Dixon glanced over his shoulder to see that, behind him, his niece was addressing not him, but Holmes.

'More to the point,' continued Dollis beneath her breath, 'why _aren't_ you doing anything?'

'I have no idea to what you are referring, Miss Hill…'

'Come on! You can take these guys!'

'With a revolver pressed against my back…? Holmes would never take such a risk.'

'So, what? We're just going to allow ourselves to get abducted?'

'We don't know that it isn't a crucial part of the plot that we end up on Bloom's boat,' Picard told her, quietly.

'But this is humiliating…'

The goon manhandling Dollis down the jetty clipped her lightly over the head.

'Zip it, Blondie.'

'Hey!' Dollis exclaimed, incensed. 'Did you see that?' She turned furiously to Holmes. 'Did you guys see that?' She glared up at her assailant. 'How dare you hit a woman?'

'Only language some dames understand,' leered the thug. 'Now, if you don't want a pop in the lip, I suggest you keep that pretty face of yours shut…'

Dollis looked from the goon to Holmes again, with an expression of irritated demand.

'What?' Holmes asked her, blankly.

'Aren't you supposed to be a Chivalrous Gentleman?' Dollis spat. 'Aren't you supposed to protect a Lady's honour…?'

'Your honour is not at stake here,' replied Holmes. 'I believe it would be more pertinent for you in this particular situation to do as you have been told, and be quiet.'

'Wise words,' smirked Algernon Bloom.

'You stay out of this,' snapped Dollis.

'I beg your pardon…?' asked Algernon, his sickly smile dangerously frozen.

'I _said_,' replied Dollis with the same tone of threatening courtesy, 'you stay…'

Bloom slapped her across the face.

Dixon tried to intervene, but it was too late. The full might of Natasha Yar's indignant fury hit Algernon square between the eyes, sending the criminal reeling backwards, clutching a bloody nose. The hoodlum who had clipped her head earlier made an attempt to cosh her into quick submission with the handle of his pistol, but again she was too fast. She ducked and span on the ball of one foot, lashing the other out as she did so. There was an almighty rip as the seam of her pencil skirt gave way under the force of the high-kick, and the goon crumpled in agony, cupping his crushed crotch.

Algernon recovered his wherewithal swiftly, and drew his pistol, aiming it at the woman.

Still technically unarmed, Tasha had made the decision to remove her impractically heeled shoes, and was brandishing them as makeshift weapons at anybody who might dare approach her.

'Give it your best shot,' she snarled, 'and let's see if these damned shoes can't hurt you as bad as they've been hurting me the last hour…'

'Tasha!' warned Picard.

'Who?' snapped Bloom.

'A little more caution, Miss Hill…' added Holmes.

'I can take these idiots,' Tasha hissed.

'However,' reasoned Data, 'Dollis Hill cannot.'

Tasha paused, unsure.

'If Dollis Hill did win this fight,' added Picard, 'it would change everything…'

Tasha sighed, resignedly. 'It'd ruin the story, wouldn't it?'

Algernon cocked his gun. 'What are you lunatics talking about?'

Picard set his face, and became Dixon Hill once more. 'Remember your Nervous Condition, Dollis.'

'Nervous Condition…?' echoed Dollis, shoes still in hand.

'It is not uncommon in this day and age for a Lady experiencing high anxiety to succumb to The Vapours,' Holmes added.

'Oh,' grumbled Tasha under her breath, 'you're kidding…'

'You _are_ prone to dizzy spells,' Dixon reminded her, meaningfully.

'Stop talking crazy,' ordered Bloom. 'Stop it, or I swear, I'll…'

Dollis dropped her shoes. She held the back of a hand delicately up to her troubled brow. Her eyes rolled back, her eyelashes fluttered unconvincingly and, taking great care to keep her knees together so as not to allow the considerable split in the back of her skirt to expose her undergarments, she swooned dramatically onto the wooden jetty.

Algernon sneered victoriously, and nodded to the goon who, with tears still in his eyes from the kick to the crotch he had earlier been dealt, scooped Dollis up and roughly slung her over his shoulder.

With a good deal more violence than before, the remaining two heavies gripped Dixon and Holmes by the arm and scruff of the neck respectively, and dragged them in the direction of the waiting dinghy. As he was painfully jostled, Dix met eyes with Holmes and offered him a relieved grin.

'Well,' he breathed, 'that was a close one!'

-x-

A ten-minute dinghy ride brought the prisoners to a luxurious looking cruise ship, moored a little way from the coast. They were quickly bundled down below, where they were taken to a small, dank cabin. The only furniture there was a small table with four metal chairs, and a large armchair, obscured in a particularly dim corner of the room. As they were brought inside, one of Bloom's goons dragged three of the metal chairs together into a clump in the centre of the cabin. Algernon Bloom indicated with his gun that Dixon and Holmes should sit. They did so, on either side of Dollis, who had been unceremoniously deposited, still "unconscious", in the middle chair. It was only as the heavies were chaining them together to their seats that the Girl Detective opened her eyes, sat upright and began to complain that the chains were chafing her wrists.

Algernon groaned. 'And we were all so enjoying the peace and quiet that your little nap was bringing us…'

'Yeah, well don't count on that happening again,' Dollis retorted, with a deliberate scowl in Holmes' direction. '"The Vapours",' she murmured to herself. 'Of all the ridiculous…'

'Perhaps, Miss Hill,' replied Holmes, 'you should simply avoid any more confrontational situations, thus evading any further spells of giddiness.'

'Perhaps, _Mister Holmes_,' Dollis countered, 'you should stop being such a…'

'Well, well, well,' interrupted a smooth, rich voice from the cabin's dark corner.

Dixon stared in the direction of the voice, expecting the spark of a cigarette lighter to illuminate a face in the shadowy armchair. Instead, the soft bulk of the entire chair appeared to shift, and rise, and move towards them. Out of the gloom stepped a man who was oversized in every proportion; the obese rolls of his form draped expensively in fine tailoring, thick gold rings glittering on his chubby fingers. He did indeed stop to light a cigarette, but only once he was in plain sight of the captive trio. 'What amusing house guests my little brother has brought back.'

'Aldous Bloom,' breathed Dixon, knowing a Noir nemesis when he saw one.

'Mister Hill,' greeted the fat man, sucking on his cigarette. 'And Mister Holmes, I do believe… you _are_ a long way from home, Sir.'

'Indeed, I am, Sir,' responded the shackled Edwardian.

'Surely,' continued Aldous, 'this has nothing to do with the added presence of… what did you say this girl's name was…?' Bloom waved his cigarette in the general direction of his female prisoner. 'A "Miss Hill"… any relation, Dixon?'

'Why doesn't _anybody_ ever know who I am?' groaned Dollis.

'My niece,' explained Dixon. 'Dollis.'

'Ah,' Aldous sighed, happily. 'What an unfortunate name for such a delightful young lady. And quite the firecracker, it appears.' Bloom took another long suck on his cigarette, taking in the woman's torn stockings and split skirt appreciatively. 'I can't imagine that it would be quite enough to lure _me_ as far from my comfort zone as it has you, Mister Holmes, but then you have always struck me as a rather perverse individual.'

'I trust that you are not insinuating what I believe you to be…' began Holmes.

'I meant no offence,' replied Aldous, his swollen face splitting into a sharp, cold grin. 'She _is_ rather pretty.'

'Hey!' Dollis snapped. 'I came here with Dix. The Limey's just tagging along for the ride.'

'"Limey"?' repeated Holmes, with raised eyebrows.

'What have you done with Jimmy Three Fingers?' asked Dixon suddenly, growing increasingly desperate to keep the narrative of the simulation going. 'Was he in on all of this too?'

Aldous continued to enjoy his cigarette. 'No, no. Young Jimmy has been a thorn in my side for some time; easily bought, no principles. A perfect accomplice for people such as yourself, Mister Hill. Luckily for me, he's also immeasurably stupid.'

'Is he hurt?' Dixon asked.

'After a fashion,' leered Algernon, slipping to his brother's side, an ebony cigar box in hand. 'He'll probably wash up on the coast in a day or two, depending on the tide.' The younger brother opened up the black box. 'They may have some trouble identifying him, though…'

Algernon held out the box so that the captives could see the contents. It was _not_ filled with cigars.

'Algy can be terribly clumsy with a pair of shears,' smiled Aldous, grinding the stub of his cigarette under foot. 'Still, at least my prize piranha shan't go hungry for a while.'

'You won't get away with this,' Dollis announced.

Aldous leaned his enormous bulk in towards the manacled woman. 'Won't I? After I've got away with so very much already? Jimmy was one of the Little People, as were the Tewkesburies, for all their haughtiness, and their dusty wealth, and their useless titles. As are you, Miss, and your esteemed Uncle, even the so-called "Great Detective", since he was idiotic enough to follow you here. Little People are nothing. Me – I'm one of the Big People. You have no idea what wheels I have in motion, Miss Hill, no idea what I am capable of becoming. Nor will you ever, since I'm afraid none of you shall survive to see exactly what a Big Shot you tried to mess with. Nothing can stop me now. I am beyond the laws of man and God…'

Dollis giggled loudly. '"Beyond the laws of man and God"? Could you think of anything a little _more_ trite?'

Aldous weighted himself away from her again. 'Miss Hill, am I going to have to sedate you?'

'Could you?' Holmes added, courteously.

'Go jump off a waterfall, Sherlock.'

Aldous turned his attention to Dix. 'Such interesting company you keep these days, Mister Hill. Are they always like this?'

'Not that I'm aware of,' sighed Dixon, wearily, 'I'll give them that, at least.'

Bloom smiled his ghastly smile again, like a razor cutting through a ball of raw dough. 'Well, at least you can console yourself that you won't have to put up with them very much longer.'

At his brother's side, Algernon's eyes lit up. 'Is it time we did a little pruning, Aldous?'

Aldous lay a calm, plump hand on his brother's shoulder. 'In time, Algy, in time. Torture and execution are such uncivilised activities, particularly on an empty stomach. I believe we have time for a little supper before we break out the pliers. Look at them.' He gestured to the trio, chained to their chairs. 'They're not going anywhere – the Limey, out of his depth; the Broad, all mouth and no shoes; and my good friend Mister Hill, who gets to listen to all their yipping and yapping for the rest of his life.' He smiled again as he ushered Algernon out of the cabin. 'They say Hell is other people – perhaps after an hour or two, your shears won't seem so bad after all. We might even find them all too happy to throw themselves overboard, and spare us the trouble.' He turned to the trio, cheerfully. 'Enjoy your soiree.'

Aldous pulled the door shut behind them with a great bang, followed by the scrape and clatter of deadbolts being drawn across it.

'Well, thank you _very_ much,' Picard muttered at the locked door.

'Why do they always do that?' Tasha added. 'Why do they always do a little speech about how invincible they are, tempting fate for us to prove them wrong, and then just go off for no good reason, giving us ample time to escape?'

'Your suggestion that Holmes should "go jump off a waterfall",' enquired Data, over her, 'was that an allusion to Reichenbach Falls?'

'They didn't even leave one guy to guard us,' Tasha continued, 'not one! I mean, that is slack. That's just asking for trouble.'

'In case you did not realise,' added Data, 'Holmes as I am playing him has already survived that incident. In order to avoid another encounter with the self-aware hologram of Professor Moriarty, I am avoiding setting any mysteries prior to the events of "The Final Problem".'

'That's because we're _supposed_ to escape now,' Picard told Tasha. 'I'm sure that the Holodeck computer felt that the chains and the locked cabin were challenges enough without adding an armed guard to the situation.'

'But, I mean,' continued Tasha, 'we're right at the heart of their secret headquarters, which _they_ brought us to, when we were already looking for it, but in entirely the wrong place… there'll be clues and weapons lying all over the place… they haven't even checked to see whether one of us might actually have the remorseless super-strength of a steely automaton… and these are supposed to be Master Criminals?! I wouldn't let a rookie Ensign on their first day outta the Academy get away with those kinds of security oversights.'

'But this isn't Starfleet,' Picard reminded her, his patience wavering. 'This is fiction.'

'Why might a mid 20th Century Terrestrial man ever suspect that one of his opponents may be an android?' Data asked. 'Furthermore, Holmes is _not_ an android. He has considerable physical strength for his age and build, but he would not be capable of breaking these chains, if that is what you are suggesting I should do…'

'You're kidding. This is our chance to escape, but you're gonna leave us all tied up here, just because it suits your character?'

'I also take exception to your referral of me as a "steely automaton", which is both inaccurate, since I am not fabricated from steel, and, I suspect, intended to be insulting…'

'Yes, _thank_ you, both,' snapped Picard, 'but our window of opportunity is getting shorter and shorter the longer you bicker…'

'"Bicker", Sir?'

'If you two don't mind,' Picard replied through gritted teeth, 'I could really, _really_ do with a moment to think.'

The other two captives fell silent for once, but still he couldn't concentrate. He found himself grimly anticipating the next bout of petty exchanges between the other pair, rather than focussing on the task in hand. 'Think,' he ordered himself, 'think. All that "little person, big person" business that Bloom was talking about – what do you suppose that meant?'

'Seemed pretty nonsensical to me,' Tasha replied, 'just pointless bragging.'

'No.' Picard shook his head. 'There are always important clues in the villain's Monologue. It'll lead us to what this whole mystery is really about. We just have to work out how.'

'Aldous Bloom spoke of "wheels in motion",' added Data, 'implying that he is plotting criminal activities the scale of which will dwarf those he is already involved in.'

'He's already committed kidnap, grievous bodily harm and murder several times over…' muttered Dixon.

'Not to mention,' continued Data, falling back into Holmes, 'that he is the single most prolific smuggler and trader of opium of which I am aware.' The Great Detective shook his head, disapprovingly. 'An empire built upon the misery and enslavement of others.'

'Well, that's rich,' snorted Tasha, 'coming from you. Wasn't Holmes a notorious Opium Fiend himself?'

'Certainly not!' Holmes retorted. He paused for a split second. 'A little morphine every once in a while, perhaps,' he admitted, 'and a dash of the Devil's Dandruff to ease the occasional period of cerebral torpor…'

Tasha scoffed again. '_You_, high as a kite on Uppers. Now there's a mental image I didn't need…' She trailed off as a realisation dawned. 'It's people.'

'"People"?' repeated Dix.

'An empire built upon the misery and enslavement of others… isn't there a big war going on in this period of Earth's history?'

'This mystery's set in 1943,' replied Picard, 'so, yes. The whole world is at war. Throughout Eurasia in particular, the level of suffering must be… I can't imagine.'

'I can,' Tasha replied. 'They killed civilians, didn't they – there were attempts at genocide. There would have been people – vulnerable people – trying to escape to the relative safety of the Americas, seeking sanctuary. And that's where people like Bloom come in. They offer escape, they offer hope for a better life… and either fleece them of every ounce of value on them, down to the fillings in their teeth, or worse still, keep hold of them as slaves, to work in sweatshops, or push drugs, or get locked away in brothels.'

'He's smuggling _people_?'

'He's building up an army of slaves,' Tasha replied. 'I've seen it happen. Those are the real Little People – the terrified and desperate forced into crime and prostitution. Commodities that he can treat like something he just scraped off the bottom of his shoe.' Tasha paused again, then blinked, brightly. 'Bobby pins,' she announced, suddenly cheered.

'I beg your pardon?' asked Data.

'I pinned my hair back a little when I was getting into this stupid costume,' beamed Tasha. She turned her head a little so that he could see the tiny grips in her hair. 'I assume that the Great Detective is capable of picking locks?'

'Undoubtedly,' replied Holmes. He made an attempt to bring his shackled hands up to the woman's head, but a further chain running along the crook of his arm made it impossible for a man with normal human strength and dexterity to do so. 'Excuse me,' he added, before leaning his head towards her, and burrowing his mouth into her hair.

Picard waited for Tasha to take noisy exception to the android's peculiar and intimate act, but she didn't. Apart from a long, slow blink and a slight curl of the lip, Tasha gave no reaction at all to having a synthetic nose thrust against her ear. Picard looked the other way with a slight sigh, almost wishing they'd start up their bothersome bickering again.

'Got one…?'

He turned his head again at the sound of Tasha's enquiry. Data was pulling his head back away from her, a bobby pin between his teeth. The android worried his tongue against the strip of flimsy metal, the way Dix's secretary would with a strand of chewing gum, swiftly straightening out the hairgrip.

'Impressive trick,' admitted Tasha. 'But could you tie it in a knot?'

'I could fashion it into a simplified miniature representation of Michelangelo's David, if you so wished,' replied Data through the hairpin.

Tasha cocked an eyebrow. 'Intriguing.'

'But,' Data continued, 'I do not believe that now is the time.'

'Quite,' agreed Picard.

He sighed resignedly again as Data pulled his wrists up to his mouth and set to work picking at the manacles around them with the pin between his teeth. For a while, a relative silence descended – the only sounds being the slosh of the waves against the side of the boat and the scratching of the hairpin in the lock. Picard couldn't imagine that the peace would last long. He was right.

'I'm _sure_ you can go a little faster than that,' Tasha exclaimed after a minute or so of picking.

'Patience, good woman,' replied Holmes, still concentrating on the lock.

'And for the last time, could you please knock off the Holmes stuff? I think it's been pretty unequivocally demonstrated that this is Hill's world, leaving Holmes in entirely the wrong time and place. Why are you still even bothering?'

'Why indeed?' replied Holmes. 'Why go to the trouble of any of this?' he slipped back into his usual persona again. 'Why did you join in this simulation in the first instance, Tasha?'

'I needed some R&R time,' snapped Tasha. 'I needed some time away from _you,_ not that I got that…'

'Are you somehow insinuating that that is my purposeful doing?' Data countered. 'Need I remind you that it was I who was first using this simulation this evening?'

'I wanted to get away from it all for a while,' continued Tasha, 'away from all the stupid mistakes I've made in the past that keep on catching up with me these days. I wanted to not be Tasha Yar for an evening – just an evening. And what am I…? A tie-in, with a stupid name, who doesn't have a gun and faints at the first sign of trouble, with no shoes and a torn skirt…'

'None of those are my responsibility,' interjected Data.

'Chained to a tweedy idiot…'

Something in Picard snapped. His head jerked up suddenly, his fists bunched.

'Data,' he demanded, a little louder than was necessary, 'let me out.'

'If you will just allow me to unlock my own restraints first, Sir…'

'No, Data, you will let me out right this instant.'

'I cannot do that while remaining true to the story.'

'Dammit,' Picard told him, desperately, 'either you break character and pull me out of these chains or I will terminate this whole sorry scenario right here and now, and _nobody_ will get to find out how it ends!'

The android stared at him for a moment, a little taken aback, then in three fast, fluid movements pulled his own manacles loose, reached across Tasha to pop apart the chains binding Picard, then sat back down in his own chair and carefully bent the links of his shackles back together in order to start painstakingly picking them open with the pin again.

'Are you feeling all right, Sir?' Tasha asked him, concerned. 'Do you want to stop the programme?'

Picard stared at them as he got to his feet, freeing himself from his chains. He took a deep, calming breath.

'No,' he replied, rubbing his face. 'No. It's just…' He stopped, and gazed at the pair again for another moment. 'It's just that… I've had a brainwave,' he told them with forced cheer.

'What is it?'

'I… don't want to jinx it,' Picard replied. 'I need to get back to my office. Right now.'

'But we are on the Bloom Brothers' Boat,' Data reminded him.

'I know, I know…' Picard pulled aside a ragged cloth hanging on the wall and was relieved to find an openable porthole, just big enough for a man to fit through. 'I'll leave you two to deal with all of that business, I just need to…' he pried open the porthole. 'Just need to get out of here before I lose my mind,' he breathed to himself.

'Are you throwing yourself overboard, Sir?' asked Tasha.

'I'll be fine,' soothed Picard. 'I can swim it to the shore no problem. It isn't far.'

'Are you certain, Sir?'

He took one last look at their upturned faces, then nodded, resolutely. 'Very certain.' He began to squeeze himself through the porthole, legs first. 'Good luck.'

He just heard Data wish him 'Bon Voyage' as he pushed his way entirely out of the cabin, clung on to the side of the boat for a moment, then kicked himself away towards the dark sea. There was a brief drop, then a splash, and cold, stinking water enveloped him.

-x-

The mist had turned into a thick drizzle by the time a sopping, sorry looking Dixon Hill squelched back into his office. His secretary looked up from her magazine with widened eyes.

'Geez, what happened to you, Dix?'

'Don't ask. It's been a long, long evening, I can tell you that for sure.' He removed his shoes, and rung his socks out onto the floor. 'You're here late.'

'Catching up on work.' His secretary flicked another page in her magazine. 'So where's your "niece"?'

Dixon sank into a chair. 'She bumped into an old flame.'

'Showed you the door, huh?'

Dix shook his head. 'It isn't like that. Those two have a bond that's… that's very, very strange indeed, but runs very, very deep. And I would be a fool to try to stand in the way of that bond, or to get involved in it in any manner. She was right. It _is_ complicated.'

His secretary smirked to herself. 'I _knew_ she wasn't really your niece. But what're you doing here? Don't you have a case to crack?'

'They were infuriating,' breathed Dix, with something close to a hint of wonder. 'Utterly exasperating – unproductive, unfocussed, querulous, the pair of them. To their credit, they're normally nothing like that, and it's in my interests to keep it that way. I can't run the risk of that… monstrosity of an interpersonal relationship spilling onto my Bridge.'

'What about a bridge…?' asked the Secretary, absently.

'Maybe it's just this place – the game we were all playing - that brought that out,' muttered Dix, 'but I can't be sure. They needed something good to share again – that much I could tell. They needed to achieve something together more than I needed to crack the Tewkesburies' mystery.'

His secretary looked up. 'You gave up the girl _and_ the case? Ouch.'

'Ouch,' sighed Dix in agreement.

His secretary pressed her lips together, sympathetically. 'You should go home. Take a hot bath, get an early night. Get outta those wet clothes.'

Dixon shook his head again. 'I'm not sure that I should. It's my mystery, technically. What would happen if I left…?' He began putting his wet socks and shoes back on. 'Besides, I'm not sure that I _want_ to. I feel that I… I should stay until they've worked it all out.'

'Why all the responsibility?' replied his secretary. 'You're not their Dad.'

'Aren't I?' muttered Dix, half to himself. 'I might be the closest either of them has to one.' He paused. 'Well, now I really _am_ depressed.' He got to his feet. 'I'm going for a walk.'

'It's raining,' warned the secretary.

Dix held out his dripping arms. 'I can't exactly get any wetter.'

With that, he walked back outside. The heavy drizzle had turned into a downpour. Not that that mattered any more. The solitary figure of Dixon Hill paused beneath the yellow illumination of a lamppost. He turned up his collar, looked up at the light and tutted reproachfully.

'Cliché,' he sighed, and shuffled wetly away.


	17. Chapter 17

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

_A/N - it was mentioned to me by a reader that 'Merde, He Wrote' felt unfinished, so here is a little bonus scene wrapping up Data and Tasha's part in the story a little better._

_Hope you enjoy it. _

_Scribbles_

-x-

Merde, He Wrote – Aftermath.

-x-

'That was good. That was really good.'

'You found it enjoyable?'

'It was just… I don't know. Really satisfying. Didn't you find it satisfying?'

'It was… a satisfactory ending, I believe.'

'Just "satisfactory"?'

'I found the climax to be… a little flat.'

'You think? Flat? I mean, this was my first time, so I wouldn't know…'

'Considering the build-up, I was expecting it to have been harder.'

'Come on. The bit where the two of us beat all those guys off, still chained at the ankles? That was amazing!'

'That was a highlight, I must admit. It is regretful that Captain Picard did not remain with us.'

'You think he'd have enjoyed it too?'

'I believe so. He did appear to have been anticipating this resolution earlier in the evening.'

'Maybe he's just gotten used to doing that sorta thing by himself. You know what? I'm actually glad it was just the two of us by the end.'

'Are you?'

'I think there's been a tension been building up for a while now… not just since yesterday. I think we needed to… thrash some of it out.'

'Hmm. I think that I may comprehend your meaning.'

'So am I forgiven…?'

'I do not believe that my forgiveness is here nor there. Do I believe that I can still trust you…? I am still unsure.'

'I think you showed trust in me tonight.'

'I think that you are probably right. Whether I am wise to have faith in you, however, is a different matter.'

'Well, it's a start, at least.'

'Did _you_ find this evening's activities to be a positive experience…?'

'Oh, Hell, yes. Tonight was just exactly what I needed.'

'Do you wish to do it again?'

'Do you think that we could?'

'You enjoyed it, and it appears to have been beneficial to our interpersonal relationship. I am available the night after tomorrow.'

'It's a date.'

'And perhaps, this time, we could select something a little more demanding. If you believe that you can rise to the challenge, of course.'

'Oh, I'll be there with bells on.'

'"Bells"…?'

Tasha smiled, and watched as the burning wreck of the Bloom Brothers' cruiser finally collapsed into the sea. She shuffled her sopping stockinged feet a little closer to the equally bedraggled android on the wooden jetty and put a hand on his shoulder.

'Man, but I love busting crime.'

Data clenched his Calabash pipe between his teeth, removing a straggly frond of seaweed from the bowl as he did so.

'I too find sleuthing to be a most engaging pastime.'

'Yeah,' breathed Tasha. 'Yeah. That was good.'


	18. Chapter 18

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Ballroom Blitz

-x-

It wasn't exactly that Tasha _hated_ Weddings… she certainly wasn't particularly used to them, having not been invited to many in her time. There was just an element to them that gave her the heebie-jeebies. Maybe it was the idea of two people, normally still in their youth, committing themselves so utterly to each other - becoming, essentially, a single unit. Maybe it was the dancing. Actually, it was much more likely to be the dancing.

She clasped her hands behind her back and surveyed Ten Forward.

The first face she recognised was Rocco's. She cursed silently, remembering that Keiko was good friends with DiMaggio's new fiancée. She took a few backsteps away from the couple as the soon-to-be-Mrs-DiMaggio flashed her ring and a proud smile at anybody who stopped to talk to them.

Still, she told herself, it was nice for Rocco to have finally got what he'd always wanted – a little wife to care for and fawn over, and to bear a score of grandchildren for his Mama. Tasha shuddered a little.

She spotted Geordi and Worf, chatting in a corner. The Engineer was good at taking her mind off irksome matters, and Worf was always an excellent partner for quietly skulking with at social events. She decided to make a beeline for them, but before she could take more than a couple of steps towards them, a hand grabbed her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. She looked down. Lieutenant Llewellyn, her wrist still in one freckled hand, a bottle of dark amber liquid in the other, beamed up at her with alcohol-clouded eyes.

'Lester,' she greeted him.

'Hello, Boss,' he grinned. 'No "plus one" with you, eh?'

'You know me.'

'Yeah,' Llewellyn agreed. 'Me neither.' He released her wrist and patted a chair next to him, unevenly. 'Come sit by here, then, my lovely.'

Tasha laughed a little as she graciously took a seat. 'You're being uncommonly forward today, Lester.'

The lanky Welshman raised his eyebrows. 'Am I?'

'And I do believe you're a little drunk, Lieutenant.' Tasha picked up the bottle of Irish whiskey from in front of Llewellyn and inspected it. 'O'Brien breaking out the Real Stuff already…?'

'I think,' Llewellyn replied, 'he wanted to share a few drinks with a fellow Irishman, but had trouble finding one.' He shrugged. 'Suppose a Welsh Gingernut is close enough.' He proffered her the bottle. 'Want a bit?'

Tasha shook her head.

'Come on! Irish Wedding! Got to have a drink!'

Tasha looked up from the table. DiMaggio and his girl had come a little closer to her table, and a small crowd had assembled to congratulate them. 'Maybe just a nip.'

'That's the spirit.' Llewellyn poured a shot of whiskey out for her. 'Can't exactly drink this whole bottle to myself.'

'Why did you let him give you a whole bottle of the stuff?'

Llewellyn shrugged again. 'Haven't been able to say no to a man in dress uniform yet.'

Tasha grinned, casting her eyes about the room as she sipped at the warming liquid. 'Everybody does look very dapper, don't they?'

'Speaking of which…' Llewellyn nodded towards the Bridal party, and the android Acting Father Of The Bride, still at Keiko's side. 'He scrubs up all right for a bag of bolts, doesn't he?'

Tasha cast the inebriated Lieutenant a sideways glance. 'Claws off, Lester.'

'Oh,' smirked Llewellyn, 'so you _do_ have a "plus one" after all.'

'No.'

'Not what I heard,' Llewellyn replied.

Tasha narrowed her eyes. 'What _have_ you heard?'

'Bits of arguments,' Llewellyn admitted, 'bits of banter, a couple of moans about the two of you always hogging the Holodeck together…'

'So what?' Tasha retorted, 'Llewellyn, as I'm sure you can imagine, the Turkana IV rescue was a very unpleasant experience for both myself and Commander Data.'

'But…'

'And as a result of that,' continued Tasha, over him, 'there was a… a breakdown of communication between my colleague and I. Fortunately, soon after that, a Holodeck malfunction threw us together and forced us to work out some of the differences that had sprung up between us, and since we both agreed that we'd found that useful for restoring our professional relationship we have, I'll admit, been returning there, so that we can work effectively together helping to run this ship. Why must everybody suspect that means that we're secretly at it like rabbits?'

'Actually, not _everybody_ suspects that,' Llewellyn told her. 'There's generally three schools of thought about the pair of you.' He started counting off on his fingers. 'One, that you've been shagging for years, another that he doesn't do that sort of thing…'

'And the third…?'

'Well…' Llewellyn took another slurp of whiskey. 'The third's that it's _you_ who doesn't do that sort of thing.'

'What?' Tasha frowned. 'Why would people think that?'

'You _are_ sort-of standoffish,' Llewellyn replied.

'I socialise plenty!' Tasha protested. 'I do combat sports, I go to the gym… I'm in a choir, for pity's sake!'

'Even so, you've got to admit…'

'But how can people think I don't have a sex life? I dated DiMaggio for months…'

'He reckons you were never that interested,' Llewellyn shrugged.

'Does he, now?' countered Tasha, darkly.

Llewellyn nodded. 'He subscribes to the first theory about your love life, incidentally. He thinks there was something going on behind his back.'

Tasha downed the rest of her shot, her frown not altering. Llewellyn watched her.

'I've made you angry now, haven't I?' He shook his head down at his table. 'I'm sorry, Boss. It's this bloody stuff. Turns me into a right mouthy idiot.'

'It's OK, Lester,' Tasha murmured. 'If it wasn't for your stupid drunken honesty I wouldn't know what people really think of me.'

She held out her glass towards Llewellyn, who refilled it for her with a small smile.

'So, while I'm being a drunken idiot, just tell me for the record, eh? Are you or aren't you?'

Tasha rolled her eyes. 'Give it a rest! What, have you got a bet on with somebody over it?'

'I'd just like to know whether I would be able to ask my beautiful commanding officer for a dance without offending the electronic gentleman.'

Tasha sat back. 'OK, firstly, knock off the patronising BS – I know I'm not your type. Secondly, it's impossible to offend Data - trust me, I've tried - and thirdly…' She knocked back the remains of her second glass of liquor and got up from the table. 'I don't dance. Sorry to disappoint you, Lieutenant.'

She walked off to join the cluster of Senior Crewmembers at the other end of the bar. Llewellyn finished off his glass, picked up his bottle and ambled over to another young Blonde officer, sitting a little forlornly in a corner.

'I know you said "no",' he announced, sitting down, 'but I asked anyway.'

The woman stared at him, wide eyed. 'What?! For the last time, Llewellyn, I am not interested! I have a boyfriend…'

'No,' Llewellyn retorted, leaning into her and hiccupping slightly, 'what you've got is a boring old fart. A proper boyfriend would show you a good time every once in a while. A proper boyfriend would stay at a Wedding Reception with you for more than half a blinking hour.'

'He's got an early start tomorrow…' muttered the woman.

'Don't make excuses for him, now.' Llewellyn started pouring himself another glass. 'You want to get rid of him, you do. I've seen the way you keep on staring at You Know Who…'

'Be careful, Lester,' warned the woman, 'or I might have to start letting slip who it is I'm forever catching _you_ casting furtive glances towards…'

Llewellyn shook his head, briskly. 'Lies, all lies.' He cleared his throat. 'Anyway, I asked, and they're definitely not shagging.'

'It makes no difference to me,' the woman protested, before adding as an afterthought; 'I mean, you're sure? They said so outright?'

'Pretty much,' Llewellyn replied. 'You should go for it. Don't be scared of Yar, she's a pussycat deep down. Go on! No time like the present…'

The woman paused, contemplating, then shrank back down into her seat. 'He's with the Bride. I can't interrupt them.'

'It'll be fine!'

The woman got up, then stood indecisively hovering for a moment, watching the Bridal party nervously.

'You know what?' She told him, 'I've got a pretty early start tomorrow too. I think I might just go.'

'Oh no, don't leave…'

She started moving away from the table. 'Night, Lester. Give Miles and Keiko my apologies. And lay off that whiskey.'

'Jenna,' called Llewellyn after her.

But she was already gone.

-x-

'Huh. You think you know a guy.'

'Hmm?' Asked Tasha, gazing down at the remains of her Synthahol Black Russian and wondering what the chances were of finding some more real liquor.

'Four years, we've been buddies,' Geordi replied, watching the people on the dance floor, 'and I had no idea he could dance.'

Tasha looked up, following Geordi's gaze. Data and Keiko's graceful twirling seemed to have the whole Party entranced. Evidently, many of the other wedding guests were as surprised at the android's ability to dance as Geordi was.

'Huh,' she echoed, a little taken back herself.

'Guess that's part of what I like about him. Always full of surprises.' Geordi cocked his head. 'He's pretty good, too. Whod'a thought.'

From the other side of their table, Dr Crusher gave a quiet, delighted 'Mmp'.

Tasha continued to watch Data dancing with the Bride. Something about the way he gently held Keiko's waist and leaned his body into her made Tasha a little light of breath.

'D'you ever wonder,' continued Geordi, 'what of the Data we know was always programmed to be that way, and what's been learned? I mean, was he built able to sing, and play music? Was he built able to dance, or did he just pick it up…? Did someone teach him…? Who can say.'

'MMP!' Beverley added, more urgently this time.

'What?' Tasha asked as Deanna came to sit next to her.

'Nothing,' beamed Beverley with an expression that screamed that she had a proud secret which she was bursting to tell.

'_Might_ somebody have taught him?' Deanna asked with a smile. 'Might somebody nearby have taught him fairly recently…?'

Crusher went back to her drink. 'I'm not saying a word.'

The music changed, and Miles O'Brien stepped in between his new wife and the android, taking over the dance amidst the applause of his guests.

'How are you doing, Tasha?' Deanna asked her, quietly.

'Me?' Tasha blinked. 'Fine! Why?'

'I noticed DiMaggio and Mamo have got engaged.'

'Difficult not to,' retorted Tasha, 'with the size of that rock on her finger.' She paused, giving her friend a reassuring smile. 'Honestly. I'm fine. I'm happy for them…'

'Well,' called Geordi over her, with a grin, 'if it isn't Twinkle-toes.'

Data cocked his head curiously as he approached their table. '"Twinkle-toes"…?'

'Nice dancing,' Crusher told him with a conspiratorial smile.

'Thank you, Doctor.'

'Come to sit and rest…?'

'I do not need to rest,' Data replied, calmly. 'In fact, the newly-weds have requested that others join them on the dance floor. I have been sent to, as Chief O'Brien put it, "rally the troops".'

'Just let us finish our drinks,' Geordi told him, 'and we'll be there.'

Tasha sunk back in her chair a little, trying to hide the fact that her glass was already empty. She was too late, however. Data put a hand lightly on her shoulder.

'Tasha.'

'Mm-hmm…?' she answered, as vaguely as possible.

'May I request the honour of dancing with you?'

'Um…'

'C'mon, Tasha,' Geordi encouraged. 'I don't think I've ever seen you dance before.'

'I, um…' She shook her head apologetically at the android. 'Sorry, Data. I don't.'

'You will not dance?'

'Not so much that I "won't",' admitted Tasha, 'it's more that I can't.'

'Everybody can dance a little bit,' Beverley interjected.

'Not me.'

'I find that difficult to believe, Tasha,' Data replied. 'You have always exhibited exceptional physical grace…'

'Sure, in combat and in training I can move just fine,' Tasha replied, 'but for some reason, as soon as I try to do it to a rhythm, it all falls apart. Trust me, guys. You do not want to see my attempts at dancing. It's a mess.'

'Are you kidding?' Geordi asked. 'I definitely want to see this now. It sounds like a hoot.'

'I'm not getting up there so that everybody can laugh at me! Sorry, Data, but no. It'll be embarrassing for the both of us.'

'I am incapable of feeling embarrassment.' Data paused briefly. 'If it helps, I can follow your lead, so that you may set a pace and style with which you are comfortable.'

Tasha scoffed slightly. 'You don't want to end up dancing like I do.'

'If I had a wish not to do so,' Data replied, 'I would not have asked you in the first place.'

Tasha folded her arms, leaning back. 'You really want to dance with me, huh?'

Data simply held his hand out to her in response.

Tasha cast another gaze around the bar. DiMaggio and his girl were already up and dancing, looking perfect and blissfully happy. The whole room seemed to be filled with couples, holding one another close to, kissing and swaying to the rhythm of the music. She looked up again at Data, his hand still courteously extended.

She took a deep breath, pushed herself up from her chair and took his hand.

'I hope you know what you're letting yourself in for with me,' she muttered to the android as her friends started prematurely applauding her.

'I believe,' Data replied, leading her onto the dance floor, 'that I seldom do.'

They reached an empty spot where Tasha stood for a moment, hoping that, somehow, her body would be inspired to move in time with the music's beat for a change.

No such thing happened.

Since she knew Data was waiting for her lead, she attempted an odd little shuffle of the feet. As he carefully copied her, she gained the courage to add a slight side-to-side swing of the torso. Again, he copied her precisely. She giggled a little, aware of how ridiculous she herself must look but glad that there was somebody making such a godawful ass of himself along with her. She began to move her arms, jerkily.

The music changed to a faster, louder tune, with a heavy drumbeat. Her ragged movements, while still not in time with the beat, grew quicker and stronger as the rhythm did. Still, Data mirrored her. He looked, Tasha mused as she floundered, like a small child full of energy sweets chasing a rubber ball on a trampoline. As, she realised, must she. For the first time since she had taken to the dance floor, she took her eyes away from Data and scanned the rest of the dance area. She almost stopped dancing when she noticed that it was virtually deserted. Whether it was because nobody wanted to be in the way of wildly flailing limbs that could punch their way through reinforced sheet metal as if it were wet tissue paper, or simply due to the spectacle, she didn't know, but the crowd had moved off the dance floor and was now, instead, circling it. Watching them. Watching _her_. She could hear Will Riker's loud, distinctive laugh coming from somewhere, and caught, out of the corner of her eye, the sight of Captain Picard, his shoulders shaking, trying and failing to clap along with her irregular rhythm.

And, here was the funny thing – she didn't want to stop. She didn't want to scurry away back into her corner, humiliated. Of course they were laughing. She looked ridiculous. But it wasn't embarrassing - it was fun. Besides which, she wasn't alone. She found herself meeting eyes briefly with DiMaggio – one of the few merry-makers who _wasn't_ smiling – before turning back to Data and enthusiastically thrashing her arms once more.

-x-

'What are they doing?' Beverley asked in despair.

Nobody answered.

'What are they _doing_?' she repeated.

Geordi pulled his Visor loose in order to wipe the tears from his eyes. 'I think they're dancing.'

'That's not dancing!' She indicated towards the flailing pair. 'What _is_ that? Is that the Hustle…? Is that what that's supposed to be…?' She put her hand to her forehead in exasperation. 'He can dance properly. He can dance! I taught him. Against all my better judgement, I taught him…'

'You taught him to do _that_?' Geordi beamed, turning back to watch the chaos on the dance floor with glee. 'Doc, that's _wonderful_!'

-x-

'That was fun.'

'It was generally conceded to be a most enjoyable Wedding.'

'_I_ had fun.' Tasha pulled Data a little closer as they walked. 'And I think I showed some of those guys a thing or two about Lieutenant Commander Yar.'

'What do you mean?'

'Can you believe,' Tasha asked him, 'some people see me as standoffish? A stick-in-the-mud? An Ice Maiden?' She glanced at him. 'Don't answer that. Of course you can believe it. Well, I guess we proved them wrong tonight. Hell, we proved _me_ wrong. I never thought I could ever have quite so much fun humiliating myself like that.'

'I do not believe that either of us were humiliated, if you are referring to our dancing,' Data replied. 'Indeed, the onlookers appeared to be showing considerable admiration.' He paused. 'Nurse DiMaggio did not look pleased.'

'No he did not,' Tasha agreed, with pride.

'Do you believe that our command of the party's attention might have caused him to feel jealous?'

Tasha shrugged. 'Who can say? Who cares?'

'It was not your objective this evening to cause him envy?' Data asked. 'A form of "one-upmanship", following the attention that his betrothal to Miss Mamo has received…'

Tasha cocked a glance at him. 'Is _that_ why you asked me to dance?'

Data shook his head, levelly. 'I asked you to dance because it seemed suitable to do so, since you are a close female friend, and, while not a romantic partner as such, at least the nearest that I have to one…'

'Such a sentimentalist,' Tasha grinned as they stopped outside her quarters. 'Why don't you just ask me to marry you?'

'Would you like to?'

Tasha's expression froze. 'What?'

'Recent events have been causing me to ruminate upon monogamous sexual relationships of late,' Data replied. 'I believe that I have reached a stage of development where I can upkeep a formal conjugal partnership. Of course, this is only something that I would be able to ascertain by attempting to put it into practice.'

'An experiment?' Tasha asked, flatly.

'That is an over-simplification of what I am proposing.'

Tasha furrowed her brow, a little confused. 'Data, from what I can tell, what you're proposing is marriage, even though you can't fall in love.'

'We would not have to marry immediately. We could commence with a more traditional courtship for now…'

'Data,' Tasha sighed. 'That won't work. Not with me, certainly…'

'But we are close friends,' Data replied, 'and we appear to be sexually compatible. According to my observations and research into the subject, these are the perfect conditions for the first stages of a romantic partnership – emotional closeness and sexual attraction.'

'But you can't feel emotional closeness, or sexual attraction…'

'I believe that I can compensate for that.'

'No, you can't.' Tasha paused, still a little punch-drunk from his sudden suggestion. 'Data, it was you yourself who told me to avoid even the possibility of developing romantic feelings for you, remember?'

'But you told me that your declaration of those feelings was a lie.'

'And if I couldn't ever fall for you, well then what's the point of getting involved with you in the first place? But if I could… if I _did_… that just wouldn't be fair.' Tasha glanced away from him, a little awkwardly. 'Personally, Data, I reckon you should probably rethink this "experiment" idea for the time being. I'm not sure that it's right for you just now. But I can tell you one thing for certain – it's never, ever gonna be right for _me_.' She looked back at him, his expression one of incomprehension. 'For starters, we're not _in_ "the first stages of a romantic partnership". We've been close for years. We've had sex two and a half times.'

'Two and a half…?'

'I reckon our little indiscretion in the Turbolift probably counts as 50 percent of a knee-trembler.'

'At least,' Data agreed.

'So you understand what I'm saying…?'

'Not entirely,' frowned Data. 'I understand your rejection.'

'It isn't a rejection,' Tasha murmured. She pulled him into a short, light kiss. 'Believe me, the time'll come along soon enough when I'm cold in my bed and kicking myself for saying no to your offer…'

'I strongly suggest that you do not kick yourself,' replied the android with an air of concern. 'If you are cold in bed, it should be simple enough to alter the atmospheric control in your…'

She kissed him again, even briefer than before. It was enough to silence him, however.

'I had a wonderful time tonight, Data,' she told him as she stepped into her quarters. 'Thank you so much.'

The door slid closed between them, leaving Data alone in the corridor. Without a further word to anybody, he returned to his quarters and continued in his personal log for Maddox.

_Lieutenant Commander Natasha Yar, I am certain that you will recall from my tribunal. It may please you to know that she and I still have the close relationship that she described then. Indeed, this evening we danced together, following which, I proposed marriage to her. She refused, and also refused my further suggestion that we might attempt altering our so-far indefinite relationship to a more tangible romance. I may well have misunderstood her meaning, but her reasoning for this appeared to be that she was, in fact, too fond of me to attempt such a dalliance. I find this most perplexing, as I find much of her behaviour. Perhaps I have much more to learn about human motives and behaviour than I thought… or, perhaps, I simply have much yet to understand about Commander Yar._


	19. Chapter 19

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

The Other Woman, Part 1

-x-

'Hey, Geordi.'

'Hey.' LaForge looked up from his monitor to see Tasha scuffing slightly aimlessly into Engineering, peering about herself, as though lost. 'You're back. How was the seminar?'

'Oh,' Tasha replied, vaguely, 'y'know. Invaluable. Tedious. The usual.' She craned her neck up to get a better look at the upper gantry.

'You looking for something, Tasha?'

'Computer said Data was in here…' muttered Yar, half to herself.

'He was,' Geordi replied, 'about a minute ago. You just missed them.'

'"Them"?' Tasha repeated. She leaned against a computer bank with a grin. 'What, are there two of him now?'

'He just left with D'Sora.' Geordi reached across to her and gently guided her away from the bank she was leaning against. 'Please don't touch that.'

'Sorry.' Tasha clasped her hands in front of her. 'He _is_ off duty though, right?'

'Sure.'

'I'll catch up with him,' Tasha decided. 'Thought it might be nice to spend some Holodeck time together, following my triumphant return from that five-day snooze-fest. Which way did they go?'

Geordi arched an eyebrow.

'What?' Tasha asked.

'I don't think Lieutenant D'Sora'd be too happy with you suggesting that.'

Tasha furrowed her forehead. 'This _my_ D'Sora we're talking about? Blonde – blue eyes?'

'So I'm told,' Geordi replied, getting back to his work.

'Huh. They're spending a lot of time together since she split up with Whatsisname, aren't they?' She snorted a small laugh. 'Need I be jealous?'

Geordi looked up at her again with a slight frown. 'Why would you be jealous?'

Tasha paused for a moment. 'I'm kidding.'

'Sure…' replied Geordi. 'Your face is getting kinda hot,' he added, conversationally. 'Do you want a glass of water?'

Tasha pressed the backs of her hands against her cheeks. 'No hiding anything from that VISOR of yours, is there?'

'No,' Geordi pointedly replied, 'there certainly is not.'

Tasha stared at him for a second, gnawing on her bottom lip. 'You still haven't told me which way they went.'

'I really don't think you should go after them, Tasha.'

'Why?'

'Nobody's told you yet?'

'Told me what?'

'Tasha…' Geordi shook his head a little. 'They're kinda… dating now.'

Tasha blinked. 'Huh?'

'As in, boyfriend and girlfriend.'

Tasha blinked again. 'I'm gone for five days and he goes and gets himself a _girlfriend_?'

'But you've got no cause to be upset about it,' Geordi reminded her, 'right?'

'Right,' Tasha agreed, 'absolutely right.' She fiddled with her hands a little. 'Um. OK… I… guess I'll just go unpack, then.'

Geordi nodded. 'Good to see you back, Tasha.'

He watched her as she wandered out of Engineering, just as aimlessly as before.

'…a girlfriend…?' he caught her muttering to herself as she left. 'Of all the lousy, rotten…'

She dropped out of earshot before he could hear the rest. He shook his head again as he set back to his work.

'"Just kidding", my ass,' he mumbled to himself. He paused. 'You realise what this means,' he addressed himself under his breath. 'It means Data's now officially got a more hectic love life than you do.' He paused again. 'Aaaaand, you're talking to yourself.' He sighed. 'Great. That's just great.'

-x-

Why was it, she asked herself, that whenever she had something important and a little awkward to say to anybody these days, she'd find herself bumping into them in Ten Forward, instead of somewhere more discreet?

Nevertheless, there Data was – alone, it appeared – and Tasha really didn't want to go through a whole shift on the Bridge with him without talking things through first. She marched over to him hastily and surprised herself with the force with which she grabbed his arm and pulled him aside.

'Tasha,' greeted the android, similarly surprised, it seemed. 'How was the seminar?'

'Never mind that,' she blustered. 'Data… what the Hell's going on?'

Data frowned. 'I do not understand…'

'I come back after a few days and all of a sudden you're in a relationship with D'Sora…'

'Jenna usually prefers to be referred to by her forename in informal situations,' Data reminded her.

'But you're in a relationship with her. A romantic relationship.'

'That is what I am attempting…'

Tasha cast a gaze towards the ceiling. 'This "experiment" of yours again, is it?'

Data opened his mouth to reply, but paused, watching her with a growing frown. 'You appear angered by this discovery, is that correct?'

Tasha tried to stare him straight in the eye and deny his accusation but, for some reason she couldn't explain to herself, found that she couldn't do so. 'I just… don't approve.'

'Why not?'

'_Why not_?!' Tasha let out a short, mirthless laugh. 'Data, it wasn't long ago that you asked me to marry you…'

'But you refused all of my proposals for any formal romantic arrangements. I do not believe that I am obliged to continue to pursue you, following your rejection. As I understand it, I am free to seek alternative relationships with whoever is suitable to me. Whether or not you give your approval is irrelevant.'

'That's not the point!' Tasha paused. 'Does D'Sora know about the history we have – about the suggestions you made only a few months ago?'

'She is aware that we have been involved in the past,' Data admitted.

'And she's happy with that, is she?'

'That I have been in a…' Data paused, searching for a suitable description, '…in a recurring series of intimate situations with another woman does not distress her. In fact, she herself has only recently terminated a lengthy monogamous relationship.'

'Exactly, Data. She's on the rebound.'

'"Rebound"…?'

'It's how a lot of people deal with a break-up,' Tasha explained. 'They've been scared off commitment by the long relationship that's just fallen to pieces around their ears, but they want validation after all that time with the same one person that they're still attractive to others. So they jump headfirst into a mismatched relationship that they know will never last. Sex and attention. That's all it is they're ever after.'

Data shook his head with a faint frown. 'I do not believe that those are Jenna's objectives. I also disagree that she and I are "mismatched" as you describe. Jenna and I share many interests, and socialise frequently…'

'Do you?' Tasha snapped. 'It's news to me.'

'You never did attend any of our woodwind ensemble recitals,' Data calmly replied. 'Is it possible, in fact, Tasha, that it is you and Jenna who are "mismatched"?'

'Don't be ridiculous, Data. She's worked under my command for years. She's an attentive junior Officer, keeps herself to herself… we get along fine.'

'Professionally, perhaps,' Data added, 'but have you ever spoken with her socially? Is it the woman who you know, or the Officer?'

Tasha folded her arms tightly about herself. 'Um… I think I got her a drink once… of course, that was a group outing…'

'Perhaps,' Data continued, 'you lack social understanding of Jenna, thus enabling you to treat her as an abstract – reacting to her with unwarranted anger and creating fanciful accusations about her interest in me, based not upon the woman herself, but upon your general mistrust in the conventions of formal human sexual and romantic interrelationships…'

'There you go again,' replied Tasha, 'throwing everything back on to me. I always have to be the bad guy, don't I? You're making me out to be some misanthropic hermit who resents any two people who are lucky enough to fall in love…'

'It was not my intention to imply such a thing,' Data told her. 'However, you do appear to be resentful of my relationship with Jenna.'

'That's because it's _you_, Data! It's you. You're different.'

Data cocked his head a little at her. 'Do you believe that, as an android, I am less deserving than others of attempting a monogamous relationship? That, somehow, it is wrong for me to do so?'

'You're just not ready,' Tasha told him. 'I know it, and I think she should know it too, if you really are as close as you say you are.'

Data looked up suddenly as though hit with a sudden wave of recognition, and opened his mouth to speak, but Tasha continued before he could utter a word.

'Think about it, Data. Think about what you represent to a girl like her; a girl whose emotions are all over the place, who needs to pander to somebody else's feelings right now like she needs a hole in the head. She's using you. She's…'

'She's… um… standing right here,' added a familiar female voice from behind her right shoulder.

Tasha froze, biting her lip, mortified.

'Hello, Jenna,' Data greeted, finally able to get a word in edgeways.

'Sorry I'm late,' D'Sora added, stepping politely around Tasha to rest a hand gently on the android's elbow.

Tasha forced herself to push back her embarrassment and meet eyes with the young Lieutenant she had just been caught out badmouthing. She had been expecting D'Sora to be wearing the same expression of cold, scornful defiance that her sister had when demanding Data's attention, and so was surprised to see in Jenna no aggressive disdain. D'Sora appeared nervous, almost apologetic, in fact. It seemed that she was as embarrassed about their awkward encounter as Tasha was.

'There is no need for you to apologise, Jenna,' Data told her. 'In fact, it may be most fortunate that you have happened to join me while I was in conversation with Tasha.'

Jenna gave a small cough and presented Tasha with a brief, courteous nod of greeting. 'Commander Yar. How was the seminar?'

Tasha returned the nod, unaware that she had folded her arms defensively about her chest. 'Evidently far duller than it's been round here.'

D'Sora twisted her lips around her mouth, as though trying to come up with a response, but remained silent.

'I believe that there have been misjudgements made on both of your parts about one another,' Data explained to the two women, 'as a result of the two of you not being in full social communication. Perhaps we can take steps to rectify that oversight now.'

'Um…' muttered Tasha. From D'Sora's expression, it didn't seem as though she would be any happier about a pally note-swapping session.

'I am certain,' the android continued, unabashed, 'that it would be beneficial not only to the continuation of your professional relationship, but also to your informal relationships with myself and one another if we should discuss these issues.'

'Um,' Tasha repeated. 'You know what, Data…? Now's not the best time.'

'But I believe that this is important…'

'I'm sure that Commander Yar has a lot to catch up on,' interjected D'Sora, 'having been away, and all.'

'That's true,' added Tasha, quickly. 'I have to get back to work. Maybe another time, huh?'

She turned and hurried off before anybody could detain her further.

-x-

It wasn't that she was entirely lying – she did have a lot of work to get on with. But, she'd reminded herself, as she'd found her arms and legs growing ever more twitchy and irritable while trying to catch up on the last few days' logs, keeping up with her exercise regime was as much part of a Security Officer's work as anything else. As luck would have it, she'd noticed that she was just in time for one of Worf's Mok'Bara classes. She had swiftly changed, and joined in.

Glad as she was to find the usual peace of mind that came with her physical exertions, she clearly wasn't capable of completely emptying her thoughts of what was bothering her. Deanna Troi, two rows in front of her, cast several worried glances over her shoulder during the class, before a barked reprimand from the Klingon forced the Counsellor to concentrate on her exercises. As fast as Tasha tried to leave the class after it had finished, she still found Deanna blocking her way.

Troi put a hand on her shoulder, further preventing her from getting away. 'Tasha…'

'Don't,' Tasha warned. 'It's nothing. I'm just a little… surprised, that's all.'

'I don't think that _is_ all,' Deanna replied. 'You're deeply concerned, and hurt. You feel… betrayed, somehow.'

Tasha rolled her eyes. 'Knock it off, Deanna. Ixnay on the athy-empay.' She held out a hand, jabbing Riker in the chest as he tried to get past the women into the corridor. 'Did I get that right?'

'I inkthay osay,' Will replied, before shrugging happily at Troi's bemused expression. 'Pig Latin – just trying to keep the embers of a dying language alight.'

Troi pursed her lips at him. 'Ouryay othbay utsnay.'

'Atta girl,' beamed Riker. 'So what are we talking about here – Data's girlfriend?' His grin widened further. 'Data with a girlfriend – it's pretty much on the same level of adorability as a puppy peeking out of a man's shoe… or maybe a duckling wearing a teeny-tiny hat.'

Tasha narrowed her eyes at him. 'Will,' she asked him in a hushed, annoyed tone, 'why do you think it's "adorable" every time that guy gets laid?'

'It just is!' Riker blinked at her, his smile fading. 'Um… have I misread this situation or something, Tasha? I thought you and he were just friends nowadays.'

'We are!'

'Then why the long face?'

'Will!' Deanna warned.

Will opened his mouth in indignation, thought better of it and shook his head. 'Women,' he muttered, wandering off.

Deanna took both of Tasha's hands, with a concerned expression. 'You still feel a strong attachment to him. I think you're taking this… experimental relationship of his much harder than you're allowing yourself to admit…'

Tasha pulled her hands away from her friend's grasp. 'Would everyone please just shut up about Data and D'Sora? At least Will was trying to make me laugh about it, Deanna – all you're giving me is the Big, Sad Eyes treatment. If you're trying to force pity on me, then you can think again.'

'I'm just trying to show a little sympathy.'

'Well, I don't want your sympathy.'

'Really?' Deanna gave her a small, mischievous smile. 'Not even if that sympathy was chocolate flavoured?'

Tasha glared at her friend, seriously. 'Make it mocha and I'll consider it.'

'Deal,' nodded Troi. 'Give me ten minutes to shower and change, then I'll expect to see you in my quarters for some intense Counselling, courtesy of our friend the cocoa bean.'

Tasha looked down at her own sweat-covered tunic. 'Guess I'd better freshen up for the occasion myself.'

She left Deanna, and started heading towards her own quarters. She did not, however, get far. No sooner had she turned the first corner than she heard an unwelcome voice calling her name.

'Commander Yar…? Commander…?'

Tasha sighed resolutely, and slowed her pace, allowing D'Sora to catch up with her.

'Can I help you, Lieutenant?'

D'Sora pressed her lips together, with that apologetic expression again. 'It's… a personal matter.'

'I imagined as such,' Tasha replied, quietly. 'Listen, I really am pretty busy right now…'

'I understand that, Commander,' D'Sora told her, 'but I really feel we should talk. Your reaction in Ten Forward made me feel that maybe…' D'Sora squeezed her hands together. 'If there's something going on…'

Tasha sighed again. 'There isn't.'

D'Sora nodded, relieved. 'I didn't think so.'

'So why follow me and ask me in the first place?'

D'Sora gave her a little, nervous shrug. 'You did come across as a bit... aggressive…?'

'I'm just looking out for him.'

'You don't really think that I'm going to use him,' D'Sora faintly frowned, 'do you? What have ever I done to give you that impression, Sir?'

Tasha stopped walking, guiding D'Sora to one side.

'I know that he seems like this wonderful carte blanche,' Tasha told her, quietly, 'malleable, eager, trusting, baggage-free…'

'I know he's got baggage,' D'Sora retorted. 'Doesn't everybody? And I certainly don't see him as "malleable". I'm not trying to turn him into something he isn't…'

'You're trying to turn him into a Boyfriend,' Tasha replied. 'He's just not the Boyfriend type.'

'For some people,' D'Sora responded quietly, 'perhaps. I can't help if no one's ever attempted a normal relationship with him before.'

Tasha snorted. 'Define "normal".'

'Well,' D'Sora replied, her initial nervousness now almost completely faded and replaced with a growing annoyance, 'not trying to hide being with him, for starters; not sneaking around until rumours spring up, and then getting upset when they do.'

'Hey!' Tasha protested, but it seemed that D'Sora was on a roll now.

'I happen to be proud of him, Commander. I'm proud to be seen in a relationship with him.'

'It isn't a relationship,' blurted Tasha. 'It's an experiment.'

'Just because he's never done this before doesn't mean…'

'He proposed performing the same experiment with me, only a matter of months ago,' Tasha replied, 'only I knew him well enough to understand it was a bad idea. He's just reaching out for the next available guinea pig. That's all.'

D'Sora gazed at her for a moment, dumbstruck.

'But then,' added Tasha, taking advantage of D'Sora's silence, 'I suppose that'll be fine by you; I mean, it's an experiment as far as you're concerned too, isn't it? You split up with your boyfriend, you decide to show him what for… you throw yourself at a guy who is, superficially, the biggest challenge on board… although you know well enough that he's actually a pushover. And then you get to explore a little uncharted territory, like a real pioneer; with the handy get-out clause once the novelty's worn off that, hey,' Tasha shrugged sarcastically at D'Sora, 'he's just a machine, after all.'

D'Sora blinked at her, still flabbergasted. 'Wow,' she uttered after a moment. 'Wow. You know, if I didn't believe it was the height of unprofessionalism to badmouth my commanding Officer…'

'Don't let my pips hold you back, D'Sora. Let's hear what you've got to say. Off the record.'

'Well, then…' D'Sora folded her arms. 'I'm surprised at you. I always had you pegged as a cynic, but to be able to twist something as innocent as what's going on between Data and I into what you just described… how does your mind work? Just how paranoid are you?' She paused, momentarily. 'You know, I was actually worried about you when I started thinking that something might happen between him and me – I knew you two were close, I thought you might have feelings for him. I even felt a little sorry for you.'

Tasha scowled.

'But I don't any more,' D'Sora continued. 'The only person I feel sorry for now is him. Because he still thinks a lot of you. He thinks you're friends. But friends respect one another, Commander Yar, and I don't think you have the slightest little bit of respect for him, whatsoever.'

There was an awkward pause as Tasha tried to think of a biting response.

She couldn't.

'Are you done?' was all she could muster.

'Guess so.'

Tasha nodded, stony faced. 'Well, I bet you're glad you took the time to straighten this out, Lieutenant.'

'I think we both said what needed to be said,' D'Sora replied. She took a step away from Tasha, without breaking eye contact. 'Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to spend some time with my boyfriend.'

Tasha nodded again, bitterly, as D'Sora turned and walked away from her. 'Have fun.'


	20. Chapter 20

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

The Other Woman, part 2

-x-

Tasha pushed her ice cream around the glass a little more. It was starting to melt at the edges now, which didn't make it any more appetising, she had to admit.

'Don't you want your dessert?'

'Not hungry,' Tasha muttered.

Deanna licked her spoon clean. 'Well, there's no point in letting it go to waste…'

Tasha pushed her sundae glass over towards her friend.

'I screwed up, Deanna,' she sighed as the Betazoid took a nibble of the donated ice cream. 'I screwed up big time.'

'What did you say to her?'

'Just what was on my mind,' Tasha replied. 'Doesn't mean I was fair on her at all. Mind you, she'll probably just see that as a challenge. I know I would.'

'I don't think Jenna necessarily wants to be in direct competition with you, Tasha,' Deanna replied. 'It's unprofessional and it's… it's just not _her_.'

'I know, I know,' Tasha sighed. 'Sweet, ditzy little Jenna D'Sora. Wouldn't hurt a fly, right?'

'Tasha, I'm not sure that I fully understand the intensity of your reaction to their relationship.' Troi paused. 'Are you in love with him?'

'No,' replied Tasha, quietly. 'It's just… you remember that awful business with the Brattain, when we all started seeing things…?'

'How could I forget?'

'I was on my way to the Bridge,' Tasha continued, 'and I could feel these hands all over me. Pawing at me, tearing at my uniform… by the time the Turbolift stopped I was a wreck. But he calmed me down. Even though he was running the ship pretty much by himself at that point, he took the time to calm me down. And during that ridiculous game of Q's… that silly medieval one… I asked him if he thought I looked good in tights, and he started yammering on about not being able to make subjective conclusions regarding sexual attractiveness, and general norms of aesthetic beauty… and I told him "just say yes". And he said "yes". And, for some reason, that made me disproportionately happy.' She paused. 'He asked me to be with him - his Significant Other. I told him no.'

'And now that he's found somebody else, you've changed your mind?' Deanna asked.

Tasha regarded her friend seriously. 'Do you think it's actually going to work, those two? Do you honestly think they could last?'

'Without wishing to be unkind,' Deanna admitted, 'no.'

Tasha nodded in agreement. 'Because he's not ready.'

'But plenty of relationships don't work out,' Deanna argued. 'It's the attempt that really matters, not the outcome.'

'Not where you're going, but how you get there, huh?' She drummed her fingers on the table. 'I guess it makes no difference right now anyway. He's picked his dance partner for the foreseeable future, and it isn't me.' She paused. 'I think I do want that ice cream after all.'

'Ah.' Deanna glanced down at the now empty dish in front of her. 'I'll get you another one.'

-x-

It was with a heavy heart that Tasha noted that she and D'Sora weren't to share a shift the next day. As much as Tasha wanted to settle matters straight away, she decided that disturbing the Lieutenant's free time for a personal discussion would only make matters worse. Jenna was probably in bed, sleeping, she reminded herself. Or, she considered darkly, doing something _else_ in bed. It wasn't until the time came to switch shifts that Tasha came face to face with D'Sora again; by which time, Tasha had had ample opportunity to think about what had been said between the two women and reach a resolution.

'Lieutenant,' greeted Tasha flatly as D'Sora stepped on to the Bridge.

D'Sora, white faced, didn't meet her gaze.

'May I have a word with you in private?' Yar added.

Riker looked up. 'You can use the Observation lounge, Commander. It's free.'

'Thank you, Sir.' Tasha stepped into the empty Observation lounge and waited for D'Sora to follow her.

'Listen,' she began as soon as the door had shut.

'Commander...' attempted D'Sora, still not looking up.

'I was out of line yesterday, Jenna,' Tasha admitted quickly, not wishing to lose any momentum. 'Your private life is just that, and I hope that any reservations I have over your personal affairs haven't jeopardised our professional relationship.'

'Commander…' Jenna repeated.

'I'm not pretending that we were ever destined to become bosom buddies,' Tasha continued, 'but you're a valued member of my team, and so far I think we've worked together pretty well. Now, I don't think…'

Tasha trailed off, properly noticing D'Sora's downturned expression for the first time. It was pretty obvious that the Lieutenant had been crying.

'It's OK, Commander,' muttered D'Sora. 'You won't have to worry about me and Data any more.'

'You broke up,' concluded Tasha.

D'Sora nodded.

Relief and guilt flooded Tasha's mind in fairly equal measures. 'Not because of what I said…?' She paused as a horrible thought came to her. 'Jenna, please don't tell me I made you feel I'd make your work life harder for you if you stayed with him. That was never the case. God, what have I done…?'

Jenna sighed, and offered Tasha what was almost a conciliatory smile. 'Commander, I've been working under your command for a long time. Long enough to know that, certain elements of rather frightening possessiveness aside, you're not that kind of person.' She looked down again. 'Your reaction was a complication, I'll admit, but there were so many elements standing in the way of our relationship working, your disapproval was a… a comparatively negligible factor.' She paused, and snorted a slight, sad laugh. 'Listen to me. Now I've started to talk like him.'

'I do that sometimes, too,' muttered Tasha.

'In fact,' Jenna continued, 'I probably have you to thank for saving us all a lot of time and upset. What you said to me was unkind, but it was true that it was a short-term thing as far as I was concerned, and an experiment as far as he was. It was never going to work. I suppose I knew that, deep down, but it took a lash of your vinegar tongue to make me admit it… no offence.'

'None taken.' Tasha paused. 'Maybe I should become a Counsellor.'

Jenna laughed a little again, incredulously this time.

Tasha shrugged. 'Maybe not, huh?'

Jenna leaned slightly against the table, regarding Tasha with a sudden seriousness. 'You're crazy about him, aren't you?'

'Why does everybody keep asking me that?'

'Seriously, what is it between you two? He wouldn't tell me any details.'

Tasha folded her arms. 'It's a very long, very strange story, and I don't really have the energy to tell it right now.'

'I don't know how you do it,' Jenna sighed. 'If there's one thing I learned from this it's that he is not a wise choice to try to fall in love with.'

'But I'm not in love with him,' Tasha replied. She cleared her throat, suddenly. 'Thank you for your time and patience, Lieutenant. You can return to your shift now. Lieutenant Worf will get you up to speed.'

D'Sora gave Tasha a small, sad smile. 'Aye, Sir.'

-x-

'Hi there.'

Data was painting yet again, Tasha noted. For some reason, she took that to be a bad sign. He only looked up from his easel very briefly. 'Hello.'

Tasha stayed close to the door of his quarters. 'I heard the news.'

'"News"…?'

'About D'Sora and you.'

'Indeed,' Data replied as he continued to paint. 'It was as short-lived a liaison as you described. You must be gratified that your hypothesis proved to be correct.'

'You think that makes me happy?' Tasha shook her head. 'What sort of a monster do you take me for?'

'I do not believe that you are "monstrous". I am simply recalling that you enjoy being validated. It must be quite a relief for you to know that you were right after all.'

Tasha paused for a moment.

'You wanna know something terrible?' She asked him after a while. 'I _do_ feel relieved. But not for the reasons you're suggesting.'

Data stopped to clean his brush. 'Why is that terrible?'

'Data…' Tasha took a deep breath. 'I just don't like seeing you with anyone else.'

Data continued to clean his paintbrush. 'With any suitors but yourself, you mean?'

'I don't even like _thinking_ about you being with someone else.'

'You feel sexually covetous – jealous? Even though you rejected my proposal of monogamy, and have demanded that the few sexual liaisons we have had remain secret?'

Tasha shrugged a little, apologetically. 'I never said it wasn't hypocritical. But it's the truth.'

Data nodded to himself. 'That would explain your puzzling interrogation of me following Ishara's departure.' He looked across at her. 'Tell me; am I to anticipate such a reaction from you whenever I attempt another romantic relationship in the future?'

'I don't know,' Tasha sighed. 'It's been a weird week for me. I haven't been myself.'

'I do not understand.'

Tasha paused again. 'Remember what I said after the O'Briens' wedding, about finding myself cold in bed and kicking myself?'

'I do.' Data shook his head with a small frown. 'It still makes no sense to me.'

'Well,' Tasha admitted, 'at the seminar, it happened.' She folded her arms protectively about herself. 'Almost everybody there was male, and absolutely every man that I talked to was a tedious, humourless bore. Needless to say, I went to bed early and alone every night I was there, and every night I couldn't stop thinking about the irony that not one of those guys was anywhere close to as charming, or funny, or warm, or good natured as an android.'

'…by which, you are referring to me…?'

'Yes, Data. Try to keep up.'

'I am trying.'

'I realised then that you're a better man than pretty much every "real" man I've ever been with.'

Data offered her a small smile. 'It is encouraging to hear such sentiments, Tasha.'

Tasha took a couple of steps towards the easel. 'Data?'

'Yes?'

'Would you have sex with me?'

Data blinked. 'Now?'

'I don't want to give you the wrong impression here,' Tasha continued, nervously, 'I still don't think we're ready for any sort of official relationship… I just… I'd really like to have sex with you right now.'

'You explicitly told me that you did not want a reprisal of our casual sexual encounters.'

'That was years ago,' Tasha argued. 'People do change their minds over time.'

'But meaningless sex has always returned us to fairly similar situations,' Data replied. 'It is only logical to assume that the repeat of such an act will have the same effect.'

'It wouldn't be meaningless! It's never been meaningless…'

'Nevertheless, I believe that what you are suggesting would complicate matters. I am also less than confident about your motives…'

'So?' Tasha folded her arms again. 'Has that ever stopped you before?'

'As you yourself mentioned, Data reminded her, calmly, 'people do alter in their convictions over time. I have learned that you usually proposition me for sex when you are not thinking as rationally as you could, and that the negative outcomes of accepting such a proposal tend to outweigh any short-term positive experiences of the act itself. Therefore, as much as I appreciate your offer, Tasha, I believe that I must decline.'

Tasha took a step away from him. 'You're rejecting me?'

'My apologies,' nodded Data in reply. 'Perhaps, in time, our situation will alter so that we…'

He broke off suddenly as he was forced to lurch sharply away from a heavy glass sculpture, which had, nanoseconds before, found itself hurtling through the air towards him.

It was only as it smashed thickly on the wall behind him that Tasha realised it must have been her who had thrown it. She clasped her hands over her mouth.

'I'm sorry!'

'There is no need to apologise,' Data replied as he stared down at the lumps of broken glass in surprise. 'I was not hurt. Indeed, your missile could not have harmed me even if it had hit me.' He looked back up at her. 'I can only assume that your action was a basic expression of anger. You have my apologies for making you feel that way.'

'I didn't even…' Tasha attempted, 'I didn't… I'm really, really sorry.' She bit her lip and jerked a thumb towards the door. 'I think I'd better just… before I mess up any more. I'll… um… see you on the Bridge.'

'Indeed.' He stooped to pick up the broken glass as the door closed behind Tasha, but then suddenly froze. The smashed sculpture still untouched, he straightened up speedily and placed a fresh canvas upon his easel. He set to work quickly, with long, fluid strokes and a meticulously calculated imitation of carelessness. It took him less than twenty minutes to complete. He stood back, examining the work. He was not certain that it was technically "good", but then, that had not been the objective. He cocked his head at it a little – the basic kinetic quality of the soaring glass, and behind it, the creator of that action, in muddled lines of black and gold; a female figure, bright and vibrant with a primal rage. He did not believe that he had correctly captured Tasha's expression. Perhaps she had not been simply angry. Perhaps there had been more to it than that. In fact, that was most likely. There was usually far more complexity behind Tasha's reasoning than he could ever fully understand.

He stared at the painting for a moment more, then stooped and began to pick the broken fragments of the sculpture up off the floor.


	21. Chapter 21

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Some Are Born To Sweet Delight

-x-

_Something changed.  
_

_There are countless realities in which Natasha Yar ceased to belong with the living following the encounter with Armus, and countless still where her timeline was changed to temporarily conjure her back from death, in which she chose to take her chances attempting to travel to the past and fight, rather than face the void once more. Nobody could know, however, quite how many realities were knotted up in that rift. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to loop back in time under such circumstances and remain on the correct trajectory? No? Neither did they, those accidental time travellers. Some ended back in the correct past, but many did not, and even some of the dimensions that the rift initially seemed to pass on by – dimensions in which Natasha still naturally belonged in the present – were affected in the past._

_The reality we are watching now was no exception. Twenty four years prior to the time we are viewing it gained what is best described as an interloper – out of time, out of place – expecting imminent death, but unprepared for the misery that was to come. By the time death finally found her, it was too late. A mark had now been made in the universe; a new life brought forth that did not belong._

_And that mark, that blot on reality, was a young girl – half one being, half another, and full of the rage of war._

_And the girl's name was Sela._

-x-

Why did these things always happen to her on the Bridge? Why was it always through that giant, public viewscreen that unexpected, familiar faces would stare suddenly down at her? She had already been subjected to first seeing the mutilated image of Locutus and the cold gaze of her presumed-dead sister in this manner – forced to remain silent and attentive to her duty instead of screaming and railing at the unwelcome image on screen as her leaping emotions always urged her to do.

But this time it was different. This time it was so much worse. This time she was completely wrong-footed. For starters, most of the good friends who had surrounded her when Ishara had shown up were not with her this time. Worf was gone. She missed the crap out of that big lug anyway, but now she felt the sudden pang of absence, and desperately wished that she still had his stony strength and dry wit close at hand. Similarly, she wished that Will Riker were still on board, or Geordi, or Wes… those guys were all so good at making her smile, even in the toughest times, but none of them were with her now. Her eyes flitted very briefly from the face on the viewscreen to the position at Ops, and saw only the bright red updo of Lt Kotowska. It suddenly struck her quite how many times over the years she'd taken a moment to look at the back of Data's head while on Bridge duty – when she'd been afraid, when she'd been uncertain… just to remind herself that he was there. But he wasn't anymore. He too was gone. She wanted him to be there… probably even more than she wanted Worf to still be there. She wanted him to be in the same room as her, watching the same screen as she was right at that second, sharing in the shock. Watching that face…

That face.

It was her face. It was _her face!_ It had been warped and twisted into a Romulan scowl, but it was still her face. Her mind was so full of 'how's and 'what's and 'why's that for a moment it was impossible for her to clearly rationalise any thought. All that she was able to do for a second or so was to stare at her own, altered image in front of her, with a sensation of growing, sickening doom.

Captain Picard rose, automatically it seemed, to his feet and she, just as impulsively, mirrored him. When she had first sat in Will Riker's chair earlier that day, she had felt excited and proud to be - albeit temporarily – assuming his position as First Officer. Although it was a giant step up from her usual position, there had been something very… very right about sitting in it, as though somehow it exuded Will's confidence in her. It even smelled faintly of the dreadful cologne that she'd laugh at him for wearing from time to time. The chair had welcomed and comforted her. Now, it felt as though it was crawling with poisonous insects. She didn't want it any more. She wanted Will to be back in that chair, not her. She wanted to be back at Tactical with Worf at her side, she wanted to know that Geordi was in the Engine Room, and she wanted to be able to see the back of Data's head, Goddammit! And she wanted that face on the screen to go away. She wanted that face staring at her to never have existed in the first place.

The image on the screen spoke – again, using _her_ voice, only harsher and colder.

'Captain Picard,' greeted the Tasha-thing. 'We meet at last.' Her gaze shifted to Tasha. 'And you,' continued the doppelganger, bitterly. 'Still here, I see. For now.'

'What are you?' Tasha blurted before she could stop herself.

The doppelganger smiled joylessly. 'Me? Why, I'm your destiny…' she curled her lip in distaste, bearing her teeth '…dearest Mother.'

-x-

'I never had a daughter,' repeated Tasha, for what was probably the tenth time at least. 'How could she be my daughter? She's gotta be close to my own age… I never _had_ a daughter!'

'We believe you,' soothed Deanna.

'So Sela is lying?' Picard ascertained.

Troi stared at the Captain and shook her head. 'I sensed no deception from her.'

'It's impossible,' Tasha replied. 'She has to be lying.'

'Maybe she meant "Mother" metaphorically,' helped Beverly. 'Could she be a clone?'

'Why would the Romulans want to clone me?' Tasha tried hard to contain her growing panic.

'I don't think she is a clone,' interjected Troi. 'She seems to genuinely believe that you are her mother.'

'But, that's…'

'Impossible. I know.' The Counsellor shot Yar a concerned glance. 'She represents something terrible to you, doesn't she? There's more to your horror than just being faced with your own image. There's something about her that makes you feel as though something's pursuing you, and closing in… a fate worse than death… but you don't know what it is.'

'It's like one of those nightmares,' Tasha admitted, 'where you're paralysed, and there's some unseen menace creeping towards you…' She shook her head, still struggling to rationalise her pervading sensation of dread. 'I can't explain it.'

'I might be able to,' announced a voice from the door.

The Captain and the three women turned their heads to see a serious and rather drained looking Guinan in the doorway to the Observation lounge.

'May I?' Asked the Barkeep, indicating to a nearby chair.

Picard nodded. 'Of course.'

Dr Crusher frowned with concern at the slow, delicate manner in which Guinan sat at the table. 'Are you all right?'

'Bit of a headache,' Guinan admitted, touching her forehead lightly. 'I'll be fine.'

'You should come down to Sickbay,' insisted the Doctor. 'I can give you something for the pain, and look into what's causing it…'

Guinan gave the Doctor a small smile. 'No offence intended, Beverly, but I know the cause already, and I don't think you're qualified to treat it. Even the best Doctor in the cosmos can't exactly stick a plaster over a paradox and make it all better.' She smiled again, reassuringly this time. 'Seriously. I'll be OK. I just need to stop thinking so metaphysically and have a lie-down for a while. But I can't do that until I've at least tried to explain our little conundrum here.'

Troi nodded, understanding. 'I think we'd better get back to work, Doctor.'

'Sure.' Crusher rose to her feet. 'We'll give you some privacy, Tasha.'

Picard gazed at Tasha with a furrowed brow as the women left. 'Would you like me to leave as well?'

'No,' chorused Guinan and Tasha as one.

'I think this concerns you, too,' Guinan added.

There was a sickly pause as Guinan attempted to collect her thoughts.

'The Enterprise C,' she began abruptly, before trailing off again.

'It was destroyed in battle 24 years ago,' Tasha interjected. 'But what does that have to do with…'

'Before that,' interrupted Guinan. 'Before it went into battle with the Romulans… There was an accident. An accident in time and reality… as a result of which, one of the crewmen of that ill-fated ship, all those years ago, was one Natasha Yar.'

'I'm thrown back in time,' Tasha sighed. 'That's how it happens.' She looked up at Guinan. 'Let me guess. There were survivors, which the Romulan victors took prisoner…'

'... and Tasha Yar was one of them,' confirmed Guinan.

Tasha nodded, bitterly. 'Well, it's not exactly cybernetic brain surgery to work out how I end up giving birth to a half Romulan baby.'

She scowled down at the table as the vague sensations of a looming horror were suddenly brought into sharp focus. She could see what Sela represented now. The Romulan hadn't been lying – she _was_ Tasha's destiny. She was her future. And, Tasha realised, her heart sinking, her future was destined to be the same as her past. After everything she had fought for to get away from the brutality of her childhood it appeared certain now that she was doomed to return to a life of unhappiness. For so many years she had believed that she had put that life behind her forever… now, it seemed that her years in Starfleet had been simply a sabbatical – the chance to glimpse the freedom and joy in which some people were able to live before being plunged back into the mire. And this time she wasn't just going to be the plaything of whatever gangs could catch her… this time she was going to have to bear them children. That felt worse to her, somehow, knowing that she was going to carry and give birth to that… that _thing_…

'Dammit,' she exclaimed, her voice louder than she'd intended.

'We have to be able to change this,' Picard told Guinan. 'If we've been warned…'

'You can't,' Tasha breathed. 'It's already happened.'

'I will not allow a member of my crew to simply be sent away in order to suffer imprisonment and rape. We still have choices. We can ensure that this never occurs…'

'Captain,' interrupted Guinan, gently. 'It's like Tasha says. It's already happened…' She turned to Tasha. 'But not to you.'

Tasha screwed up her face. 'What?'

'This accident in time that caused Sela's mother to fall into the past,' explained Guinan, 'we've passed it already.'

Tasha's expression didn't change. 'The rift.'

Guinan nodded in agreement. 'The rift.'

Picard blinked a little, confused. 'The rift…?'

'Last year,' Tasha explained. 'We saw another Starship Enterprise, only for a second…'

'I'm fairly certain I would have remembered that, Commander.'

'You'd think so,' Guinan shrugged, 'but you didn't. Tasha was the only one who remembered seeing it. Looks like we finally have an idea why that was.' She turned to Tasha again. 'I had a feeling that it had something to do with you. My feelings are usually right.'

'So if I didn't go back in time,' Tasha asked, 'who did?'

Guinan sighed, rubbing her painful forehead. 'The rift wasn't just a simple loop in time. It was an intersection of countless different timelines, all confused, all shifting constantly from one reality to the next… Like I said at the time, Tasha, you don't want to go leaping from reality to reality. You're bound to get lost. I guess the Tasha Yar who ended up in our past just… got lost.'

Picard stared at Guinan. 'So Sela's mother was from an alternative reality?'

'Yes,' replied the Barkeep. 'That must explain why you remembered seeing the rift, Tasha. It had millions… billions, perhaps, of Tasha Yars, all caught up in its tangled web, all falling through time and reality. They must have called out to you, somehow.'

'So,' Tasha pondered, 'there are two "me's", now?'

'Assuming the other has survived so long,' replied Guinan.

'Two "me's", and a daughter my age who looks just like me,' Tasha continued, 'and a rift in reality that's been and gone but means that cause and effect don't quite apply to me any more… Great. Now I think _I'm_ starting to get a headache.'

Guinan nodded sympathetically, massaging the bridge of her nose. 'A SNAFU in the fabric of reality'll do that to a person.' She got to her feet. 'Now, if you don't mind, I have a date with a cold eye mask waiting for me. I just hope what I said was able to help you.'

'It was,' Tasha told Guinan as she left. 'Thank you.'

A brief silence fell between Tasha and Picard as the door closed behind Guinan, leaving them alone in the Observation lounge. The Captain gave her a brief, concerned smile.

'Are you all right, Commander?'

Tasha nodded, a little vaguely. 'It could have been me back there on Romulus… perhaps it _should_ have been me… gives me the feeling that I cheated fate, somehow – cheated death and disaster.'

'Commander…' Picard sighed. 'Tasha. I've lost count of the number of times _I_ have defied death and disaster. All of us have. It comes with the life we've all chosen.' He paused. 'Admittedly, not all of us have to face the half-Romulan offspring of an ill-fated self from a parallel dimension as a reminder of one's near-escapes…'

'Yeah,' Tasha agreed. 'She's quite the headache.'

Picard got to his feet. 'You've had a nasty shock. The Frenchman in me has a burning desire to pour you a large Brandy.'

That made Tasha laugh a little. 'As kind as that is, Sir, I think there might be somebody else out there in much greater need of a stiff drink than me.'

Picard gazed at her in understanding. 'The other Tasha Yar.'

'I don't want to just leave her there,' Tasha explained.

'Neither do I, Commander. But it's been over twenty years. I can't imagine the chances of her surviving that long as a prisoner on Romulus are particularly high…'

'She'll already have survived fifteen years on Turkana,' Tasha countered.

Picard nodded. 'That's true.' He placed a hand on Tasha's arm. 'We'll start asking questions. Not least, from Sela herself. If the other Tasha Yar is still alive, we'll find her.'

'Thank you, Sir,' Tasha smiled. 'Thank you.'

-x-

Data had not been expecting the small ripple of applause that broke out as he entered Ten Forward. In fact, he had been anticipating some hostility. He could not understand why his decision to disobey Captain Picard's orders were being praised rather than admonished, not least from the Captain himself. True, it was that disobedience which had lead to the successful detection of the Romulans' attempted interference with the Klingon's conflict, but that, Data believed, was beside the point. He gave those applauding him a slight nod of acknowledgement and approached the bar.

Tasha was sitting alone at the far end of the bar, hunched over her drink. She seemed unhappy. In fact, she had seemed unhappy ever since he had returned to the Enterprise. Perhaps he would be able to offer her a distraction.

She appeared to detect his presence without either turning to see him, nor his announcing himself.

'Well,' she grunted, still staring down into her glass, 'if it isn't the Romulan-finder General.'

Data frowned. 'I have not been made a General…'

'Joke,' added Tasha, in a tone that was, confusingly, far from jocular. She finally looked up at him. 'You did good out there.'

'So I have been told, by various sources,' Data replied. 'However, I am somewhat…'

'_She_'ll know not to underestimate you again at any rate,' Tasha interrupted. 'I hope you're prepared for that.' She took a slurp of her drink. 'You got her good and pissed off there, I'll bet…'

'Are you referring to Commander Sela?' Data asked. 'Tasha – I believe that I should enquire… you have just completed a mission as acting First Officer of the Enterprise for the first time, with considerable success, in spite of unforeseen and extraordinary obstacles. Further to this, it has just been announced that Lieutenant Worf, with whom I have noted that you are particularly close, is to be returning to his post on the Enterprise. Under these circumstances, I would have expected you to be happy. However, on the contrary, you appear in fact, to be exceptionally _un_happy. I can only imagine that it is the revelation of the existence of Commander Sela that has generated such a reaction from you…'

'Data,' interrupted Tasha again.

'Yes, Tasha?'

'Data, sit down, shut up and have a drink with me.'

Data paused for a moment, his mouth open ready for a reply, then simply nodded mutely in acceptance and drew up a barstool next to hers.

He sniffed at the drink as Tasha poured it out for him. 'This is Brandy.'

'Yep,' Tasha replied, curtly. 'French.'

Data took a tiny sip. 'It is not from a replicator...?'

'No. From a friend.' She took a slurp. 'I was saving it for somebody else, but it looks like we're too late for her. Much too late.'

Data thought for a moment. 'By "somebody else", you mean Sela's mother? I heard that Commander Sela has informed the Captain of her mother's death some years ago…'

'"Sela's mother",' aped Tasha, bitterly, '"Sela's mother"… why must everybody call her _that_? As though that's the only thing about her that matters… as if that's all in her life that ever defined her?'

'I meant no offence, Tasha…'

'Data, she was _me_! She was Tasha Yar, the girl who'd crawled up outta the sewers of Turkana IV to serve proudly on the Enterprise. She was me, and for some reason I'll never know she ended up out of her time, out of her reality… a slave. A concubine. And when she tried to escape that life, find her way back up into the stars… she was murdered. We were too late to help her. We were decades too late.'

'It is possible that Sela was not telling the truth,' suggested Data, 'that perhaps the alternate version of yourself is still alive…'

Tasha shook her head, taking another slurp of Brandy. 'Romulan or not, if Deanna Troi says she's not lying, then she's not lying.'

'In which case,' Data reasoned, ' there was never anything that you could have done to assist the alternate Tasha Yar. By the time you had freed yourself from Turkana IV, she had already been dead for several years. Therefore, there is no logical cause for your distress.'

'That's the thing,' Tasha breathed. 'For her to go from Turkana to Romulus, at the same time that I'm still on Turkana… there's something horribly cyclical about it. You look around you now and you see the clean lines of the ship, you smell the clean air, you feel the buzz of clean, happy people, and it's so easy to forget that it isn't like this for everybody, that some people still scratch around in the filth all their lives… "Some are born to sweet delight, some are born to endless night"…'

'William Blake,' Data recognised, 'Auguries of Innocence.'

'Really?' Tasha asked. 'It was graffitied over a bunker I used to crash in back on Turkana. It used to make me angry. It was so damned defeatist. It didn't speak for me – I was gonna get off that rock and sample some of that "sweet delight" that the writing on the wall told me one was either born to or not.' She paused. 'I wonder if she ever stayed in that same bunker, and read those words, and felt as angered and determined by them as I was. I wonder if she ever did find true happiness on her Enterprise. Did she have a Worf? Did she have a Will and a Deanna? Did…' Tasha stared back down at her glass. 'Did she have a Data?'

Data gave no reply.

'Would it have been better or worse for her to have found happiness in Starfleet before living out her last, miserable years on Romulus? Would knowing what she was missing bring her hope or despair…?'

'This is all speculation,' Data reminded her. 'You cannot know any of these things for certain. Even if you did, they would be of no benefit to anybody.'

'I guess,' sighed Tasha in resignation. She pushed the bottle of Brandy away from herself. 'And it's no good me sitting around here feeling sorry for myself…'

'You are "feeling sorry" for _her_,' interjected Data.

Tasha smiled a little. 'Potayto, potahto.'

Data frowned, confused. 'I do not understand what this has to do with potatoes.'

Tasha giggled. 'You know what? I hope she did have a Data. Alternate Me didn't have a lot of luck in life, from what I can tell. Maybe if she'd had a Data, if only for a little while, that'd have made up for some of it at least.'

Data curled the corners of his lips very slightly as he considered the compliment. 'Thank you, Tasha. Although I do not believe that I consistently bring you happiness.'

'You do well enough,' Tasha shrugged. 'Like just now - letting me blow off steam over the whole Sela issue, and helping me get a little perspective. Whatever her life was like, I'm sure glad _my_ reality's got a Data.'

'And I believe that it is fortunate,' Data replied, 'that in this reality, you have remained in the present with the rest of us.'

'Aren't we a lucky pair?' Tasha reached over a hand, and softly patted his arm.

A momentary silence fell between them. Tasha's hand remained on his arm, her fingers gently curled around his angular elbow.

'I believe,' announced Data, suddenly, 'that it is highly probable that we shall encounter Commander Sela again in the future. If you have not yet considered the possible ramifications of this event occurring with regards to your personal and professional life, I have taken the liberty of projecting so far seven hundred and thirty four hypothetical…'

She removed her hand from his elbow. 'You always know how to ruin the mood, don't you?'

'I only considered that you might wish to be prepared for any further…'

'Data?'

'Yes?'

'Shut up.'


	22. Chapter 22

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Generation Gap

-x-

'How does she do that?'

'Sir…?'

'How can she just… nod off? Just like that?'

Data paused. 'Are you referring to Commander Yar?'

'Who else?' Picard whispered in reply. He shifted uncomfortably to a sitting position on the cold slab of metal that the Klingons laughably referred to as a "bed", and watched the woman curled up on the floor in the corner silently. In spite of the extreme discomfort of the cramped cabin, Tasha had smiled, yawned, bid the others a good night, then bunched herself up in a tight, foetal knot on the rough floor before Picard had had chance to offer her the "bunk" and now, mere minutes later, seemed to be blissfully, soundly asleep.

'I believe it is because she feels secure at present.'

'Secure?' Picard echoed. 'On a Klingon vessel in Romulan territory, about to embark on an undercover mission…?'

Data offered him a vague approximation of a shrug. 'She does not sleep easily on away missions when she feels that there is the possibility of sudden attack. Otherwise, she is capable of falling asleep in surroundings too uncomfortable for most humans to rest in.'

Picard squinted at the snoozing woman. She appeared to be using her shoes as a pillow. 'A habit learned from her childhood on Turkana IV?' He whispered.

'I believe so,' Data replied. 'And there is no need for you to lower your voice. Unless one physically agitates her during her slumber, she is particularly difficult to rouse.'

Picard smiled a little. 'Data, do you actually have files on how to best wake all your fellow officers up?'

'No, Sir.'

'Then how...' Picard trailed off, reminding himself, a little too late, how it was that Data knew so much about Tasha's sleeping habits. He looked down at his knees and cleared his throat. 'I do beg your pardon. That's none of my business'

'I am not offended, Sir.'

'Good.'

There was a long pause. Picard looked across at his hard mortuary table of a bed. It wasn't starting to look any more enticing.

'Sir…'

Picard looked back up at the awkwardly standing android. 'Yes, Data?'

'If you do not mind my asking, Sir…' Data frowned a little. 'It has not yet been made clear to me why it is that Commander Yar has been selected for this mission.'

'Apart from her being the finest security and tactical officer I've ever had the pleasure of serving with, you mean…?'

'I am capable of offering you more than adequate physical protection alone, Sir.'

'Data…' It was Picard's turn to frown. 'We've found ourselves in the curious position of having amongst us an officer who is capable of perfectly imitating a high ranking Romulan – somebody capable of opening a few doors.' Picard paused for breath before remembering to add 'figuratively speaking, that is. Should we require fast, easy access to certain restricted areas of Romulus - perhaps even the Senate itself – it may well prove invaluable to have with us the presence of our own "Commander Sela".' He paused again, thinking. 'Data, you've already been briefed on all of this. What exactly is the issue here?'

'One version of Tasha has already lived as a captive concubine for many years on Romulus,' Data reminded Picard, 'and has already been killed.'

'I am aware of that, Mister Data, and if there was anything I could do to change that…'

'Captain…' The android cocked his head at Picard slightly. 'What would you hypothesise would become of Tasha in the event of an encounter with the real Commander Sela?'

Picard pressed his lips together tightly. 'Well… I'm certain that…'

'I'd handle it,' muttered a voice from the corner.

Picard blinked. 'Tasha. I'm sorry – did we wake you?'

'Not as such,' mumbled the foetal woman. 'Guess I'm not as sound a sleeper as you reckoned, Data.'

Data and Picard exchanged glances.

'My apologies, Tasha.'

Tasha grunted and rearranged the shoes under her head. 'Don't sweat it.'

'I do not sweat.'

'Data,' replied Tasha, 'do me a favour, would you?'

'What is it?'

'Shut up.'

Picard smiled at Data's perplexed expression.

There was a brief silence before the android spoke again. 'For how long do you wish me to "shut up", Tasha?'

But there was no reply except for the young woman's soft, content snoring.

-x-

Tasha looked in the mirror and sighed. She brushed a finger over one of her pointed prosthetic ears, then down her thick, straight Romulan fringe. She tried setting her face into Sela's trademark contemptuous scowl. She sighed again.

She heard a faint growl from behind her and turned her head slightly. The Klingon lingering in the doorway wore an expression as though he'd just stepped in something disgusting.

'Repulsive,' he muttered.

'You've got a point,' Tasha agreed quietly, glancing back at the mirror.

'Human females are hideous enough,' grunted the Klingon, 'but to make yourself appear _Romulan_…'

'You know,' Tasha added, 'it's very rude to intrude on a lady when she's getting changed.'

The Klingon sneered. 'Your friends are waiting for you. You will make quite the trio, looking as you do.'

'Great.' Tasha smiled brightly at him as she sprang to her feet. It appeared to unsettle the Klingon a little, and he stood back to allow her to pass without further comment. She rounded a corner and almost walked straight into a rather surprised looking Romulan.

'Oh!' She exclaimed, then blinked. She felt a wide grin of amusement pull at her lips as the altered features suddenly became recognisable. 'Sir! Is that really you?'

A green-tinged Jean Luc Picard offered her a very un-Romulan smile. 'I take it from your initial surprise that my disguise is convincing.'

'Just remember to maintain a sourpuss expression throughout and I'm certain you can pass for Romulan.'

Picard nodded. 'Thank you, Commander. And, may I add…' He trailed off, frowning at Tasha's expression. 'Is there something the matter…?'

'Sorry.' Tasha tried her best to look as serious as possible. 'It's just… you have hair, Sir.'

Picard smoothed down his own thick black fringe, irritably. 'Yes. It feels very odd.'

Tasha folded her arms, playfully. 'I'm sure you'll get used to it.'

The Captain arched an eyebrow at her 'I intend not to.'

Tasha grinned again. As vital and treacherous as she knew her upcoming mission was, she had to admit to herself – this was _fun_. She just couldn't wait to see what Data looked like…

On cue, the universe's stiffest, most angular Romulan stepped awkwardly from a doorway to join the pair and tilted his head slightly at Tasha like a clockwork sparrow.

'The resemblance to Commander Sela is indeed remarkable…'

Data was cut off as Tasha burst into a fit of giggles.

'However,' he continued in the same placid tones as ever, 'I do not believe that she is prone to such hysteria. You should do well not to laugh when we are on Romulus.'

'I'm sorry,' Tasha laughed, 'but you as a Romulan… it's just not right.'

Data checked his prosthetic ears and forehead with his fingertips. 'Is there something amiss with my makeup?'

'You're just… you. You're just Data, dressed as a Romulan.'

Data blinked bewildered. 'That is correct. I do not understand…'

'I think what Tasha is trying to say,' interjected Picard, 'is that you don't seem to have the movements quite correct for a Romulan yet. Or the speech patterns.'

'I am aware of that, Sir. And I am striving to correct those issues…'

Picard nodded at the android. 'That's good.'

'Just as,' Data continued, 'I have been attempting to make my physical movements and speech patterns more human in the years since my reactivation.'

'Right,' nodded Picard, his expression not cracking. 'Data, you'd probably better allow me to do most of the talking once we're down there.'

'That may be a wise strategy, Sir,' agreed Data. He blinked again at Tasha, who was still biting down the last of her giggles. 'You appear to be in a particularly jocular mood, Commander, considering the severity of our mission.'

Tasha wiped her eyes. 'I'm just making the most of being able to laugh while I still can. I'm not expecting to smile much when I'm acting as Sela.'

'Well, I shouldn't worry about that quite yet, Commander Yar,' Picard told her. 'Commander Data and I will be making the initial enquiries.'

Tasha's face fell. 'I know, I know,' she sighed. 'I'm your "secret weapon", and I can't exactly stay secret for very long once I'm on Romulus. I just… I get ants in my pants when I'm this close to an important away mission… and before you ask, Data, no, my pants don't literally have insects in them.'

'I am aware of that,' Data nodded. 'The term was a colloquialism, with the meaning that you are impatient to proceed with the plan, was it not?' Data didn't give Tasha the opportunity to reply. 'However, I must remind you that, should our mission continue to our ideal expectations, we will not require you to transfer to the surface at all.'

Tasha nodded. 'You'd like that, wouldn't you?'

'As I have just stated, that would be the ideal situation.'

She narrowed her eyes at him. 'You're still worried about me, aren't you?'

'I am incapable of worry…'

'Sela got you spooked,' Tasha interrupted. 'Didn't she? Or at least, the story of her mother did. You think I might get captured down there. You think history's somehow going to repeat itself…'

'We all risk capture,' Picard interceded. 'You are not at any greater risk than the rest of us. If I thought that you might be, you would never be on this mission.'

'I'm not going to be captured,' Tasha informed them, plainly. 'They might have got the other Tasha, but those sons of bitches aren't gonna get me.'

'It is possible…' began Data.

'No, it isn't,' snapped Tasha.

'If you…'

'It is _not_ going to happen, Data!'

'That's it!' announced Picard with a sudden enthusiasm.

'What?'

The disguised captain pointed at her face. '_That's_ the right expression for a Romulan.' He turned his attention to the strange frown on the android's features. 'You too, Data. Well done.'

-x-

'Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-t… dammit.'

Tasha got up, picked up the balled pair of socks, then sat back against the cabin wall, closed her eyes and started again.

'The latrines are full of Tribbles, the computer's gone berserk…'

-x-

Data gave Picard and his guest a brief nod of acknowledgement as they approached, and swiftly went back to his work at the Klingon computer banks.

Picard smothered a smile at the manner in which Ambassador Spock took in his surroundings. The dignified Vulcan's movements were far more fluid, far more ponderous than the android's faintly birdlike actions, but there was something about the way that Spock looked about himself – something about his air of detached, cerebral fascination – that was heavily reminiscent of Data.

'Your Klingon hosts appear to be absent,' noted the Ambassador.

'They did not wish to remain in this part of the ship,' Data explained without looking up from the computer, 'on account of the singing.'

'Thirty,' chanted Tasha's voice from the next chamber. 'Thirty-one. Thirty-two. Thirty-three. Thir… drat.'

'She has been singing drinking songs popular at Starfleet Academy for three hours, twelve minutes and fifteen seconds, at an average level of 72 decibels,' added Data. 'It appears that she is… bored, Sir,'

Spock cocked an eyebrow.

'The secret weapon that I mentioned earlier,' Picard elaborated, 'who unfortunately has been forced to spend the entirety of this mission so far confined to the ship, thinking up ways of entertaining herself… which appear to have revolved largely around annoying the Klingon crew.'

'Hmm,' replied Spock.

Picard blinked. Was that a note of amusement in the Ambassador's voice? He followed the Vulcan as he quietly approached the open door to the cabin from which the chanting issued.

Tasha was sitting against the wall with her eyes shut tight. She had removed her socks and fashioned them into a makeshift ball, which she threw rhythmically into the air and caught again as she chanted. It was a pretty basic drinking game that Picard recalled from his Academy days – not exactly fun if you were alone and sober, but it passed the time. The words of the chant differed slightly from year to year, as was the way with oral traditions. Picard bit his lip as Tasha picked the dropped ball of socks from her lap and prepared to start from the beginning. He sincerely hoped that, considering the company they had at the time, the words that Tasha was used to wouldn't bear any resemblance to those that _he_ used to sing.

But, of course, they did.

'The latrine is full of Tribbles, the computer's gone berserk,' chanted Tasha, still throwing and catching the "ball" with screwed up eyes. 'How many girls have lost their bra to James T. Kirk? One. Two. Three. Four. Five…'

'I suspect that you will have to throw your ball for some time,' announced Spock suddenly, 'if you wish to attain anything close to an accurate number.'

'Shit!' Tasha dropped the ball and sprang to her feet, mortified.

'Besides which,' Spock continued, 'as I recall, the song usually refers to female hearts lost, rather than undergarments.'

Tasha began hastily pulling on her socks. 'I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to cause you any offence, Ambassador…'

'The song was not about me,' the Vulcan replied with a faint shrug. 'And if you believe that it is offensive to Admiral Kirk's memory for attractive young women to sing in celebration of his sexual prowess, then perhaps you know something about my old friend that I do not.'

'Um,' muttered Tasha, before changing tack, brightly. 'Embarrassing first impressions aside, Sir, may I say what a pleasure it is to finally meet you.'

Picard smiled again at the sight of the young woman, still fully made up as Sela, as she held out her hand to shake, then quickly changed her mind and started to attempt a Vulcan salute, leaving Spock with his arm outstretched to return her handshake. Tasha blinked, gathered herself and finally grabbed the Vulcan's hand with both of hers and pumped it enthusiastically.

'I never had any role models growing up as I did,' Tasha explained, 'but hearing about the things you guys on the original Enterprise achieved, the adventures you had… you were the first heroes I ever had. You were inspirational to me, and… and you must think I'm a complete idiot.'

'On the contrary,' Spock replied, 'I have found both your Captain and your android friend to be highly logical people. I do not believe that they would have displayed the confidence and pride in you that they have when discussing you, were you in any way idiotic. However,' he added, a little conspiratorially, 'it may be prudent for you to stop shaking my hand now.'

Tasha released his hand swiftly with a sheepish smile.

'If you don't mind,' added Spock, 'I offered to assist your Mister Data.'

The Vulcan turned back into the other cabin to join the android at the computer bank. Tasha covered her eyes with a sigh.

'Are you all right, Commander?'

'A little flustered,' Tasha replied, 'a little mortified.' She smiled tightly at her Captain. 'I'll live.'

'I'm sorry we startled you,' Picard told her. 'However, you may be pleased to know that it appears you won't be twiddling your thumbs here for much longer.'

Tasha's eyes lit up with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. 'You need me to go down there?'

'We need some information on a member of the Senate – Proconsul Neral. We have some suspicions as to his motives.'

Tasha nodded. 'I'll speak with him.'

'There might be a more effective means of gathering information,' Picard replied, 'providing Data is able to unlock the access codes to the Romulan computer system. I would imagine there would be a wealth of invaluable information in Sela's office – and not just on Neral. All you'd have to do would be to walk in as Sela and sit at her desk.'

Tasha folded her arms with a grin. 'I never signed up for any desk job, Captain.'

Picard genially patted his Security Officer on the shoulder. 'I'm certain that there will be plenty there to keep you suitably stimulated.'

-x-

_Get in, get what you need, get out again. Be speedy, be inconspicuous. don't let them find out what you've pulled until they're eating your dust._

Tasha clicked swiftly through the hall; her boxy shoulders making her feel twice her usual width.

_March_, she reminded herself internally, _don't walk. Scowl, don't smile. You are Sela – angry, arrogant Sela. Everybody you see is beneath you. You are…_

'Commander Sela!'

She blinked slightly as the junior officer hurried towards her.

'Yes?' She grunted.

'We were not expecting you back for hours,' the officer worried, 'and certainly not alone.'

_Oh, crap._

She turned an acid gaze onto the young Romulan. 'Are you _questioning_ me?'

The officer balked. 'I would not dream of it, Commander…'

'Then why are you still bothering me?'

'I just…' The Romulan faltered. 'Has there been a change of plan…?'

Tasha reached the door, which according to the information Data had pulled up, would hopefully lead to Sela's office. She stopped and turned to the young Romulan. 'When I wish to provide you with new information, I shall do so of my own accord. Not before. Do you understand?'

The Romulan bowed his head. 'Yes, Commander.'

Tasha turned back to the door, biting down a smirk. The door opened smoothly to reveal a Spartan office. A desk, a couple of computer terminals… that was pretty much it. She quickly made her way over to the desk and typed in the access codes she had been given. She beamed as the console suddenly filled up with neat lines of information files.

_Thank you, Data_.

It didn't take her long to locate information concerning Neral. Picard's suspicions had been correct, it seemed. Neral and Sela had been working together to locate and infiltrate the underground Reunification movement.

_You bitch._

She was about to look further into more detailed files when something else on the console caught her eye. She frowned and accessed the file labelled 'Yar'.

She sat back, exhaling slowly as the screen filled with information about her own life. Somebody, it seemed, had been very busy indeed gathering as many details as they could, no matter how personal. From what Tasha could tell, the Romulans were now as sure as Guinan had been that she was not the same Tasha Yar who had mothered Sela, and that she was not due to travel back in time with the Enterprise C at any point. It looked like they were preparing for something, which involved Tasha being very much in the here and now. There were detailed maps of her facial features in the file – even retina scans. Tasha glowered. They were making arrangements to sneak Sela onto the Enterprise, disguised as her.

_You bitch!_

Reams and reams of personal information followed – her relationship with Picard, her close friendships with Will, Deanna and Worf… DiMaggio… Data. Some bastard had gotten hold of a transcript of the Maddox Tribunal and added the sordid details to the file.

_You Bitch!_

The notes on Data linked to another file labelled 'Soong androids'. She accessed it quickly. The level of information was immense. There were details in there that she'd never even heard about before. It appeared that Data's psychotic brother Lore had been causing some mischief in a stolen ship at the edges of Romulan space. Impressively, the Romulans had almost captured him… almost. Lore had escaped, leaving no less than 90 dead Romulans in his wake. Data's presence amongst Starfleet had already caught their attention – Lore had made them practically frantic for details about the workings of Soong's creations. There were three Romulan cyberneticists working on what had been gathered of Soong's designs… but not, Tasha realised as she studied the notes and diagrams, to create more androids. Oh, no – what they were seeking to develop was worse. Much, much worse. She had no idea how the contraptions she looked at were supposed to work, or whether they could be successful… but she knew what they were for.

_You BITCH!_

'Commander Sela…?' stuttered a confused voice from the corridor beyond.

Tasha leapt to her feet, switching off the computer as she went.

'You look surprised to see me,' replied another familiar voice from outside.

Tasha looked about herself frantically. Escape, fight or hide…?

'I… thought you were already in your office, Commander.'

Escape was out – the only exit was the door that Sela and the young Romulan officer were already standing at. Hiding would have been an option if Sela's office weren't so damned minimalist. Fighting her way out was a possibility, but it would blow the cover on the whole mission, and the chances of her being outnumbered or overpowered between the office and a sanctuary were high. She was _not_ going to get captured by those bastards! Maybe if she took Sela by surprise she could subdue her, lock her in the office and saunter out to safety, still disguised. But how…? She glanced up.

_Ah-ha!_

'Did you, now?' Sela asked the junior officer, with almost a hint of amusement in her voice.

'I… I _spoke_ to you, Commander. You told me not to question you.'

'Well,' Sela agreed, 'that does sound like me.'

The door opened and she strode into the office. She calmly walked over to her desk, sat down, and began to write.

'I know you're still in here,' she announced after a while. 'The chair is still warm. My guess is that you're hiding in the ventilation shaft.' She aimed her weapon at the grate. 'Rather a cliché, wouldn't you say?'

Up in the ventilation shaft, Tasha held her breath.

'Yes,' Sela continued, 'you'll notice that around two metres behind you is a large, immovable air filter. I had it installed partially to keep the humidity just so, and partially to keep undesirables from crawling in, or out. So, you're not going anywhere, and if you were planning on waiting to take me by surprise, I'd say that chance has pretty much passed, wouldn't you? Why don't you come down?'

Still, Tasha didn't move a muscle. From the grate, she could see a small picture on the wall that she hadn't noticed before – an image of Sela next to an older looking Romulan male. He looked proud… they both looked proud. And, Tasha noticed, they had the same eyebrows.

'If you're worried about destroying your friends' cover and putting them in danger,' Sela added, 'don't bother. I already have them in my custody. I got our mole to deliver them to me while you were busy messing up my filing system.' She looked up from her writing, straight at the ventilation grate. 'I've left them to sweat for a little while whilst I finish off this speech – your Captain; the esteemed Ambassador, who I believe is quite the girlhood hero of yours; and the android, which… well, since you've been through my notes, you'll know quite how close we are aware that you are to that thing.'

Tasha still didn't move. She couldn't take her eyes off that picture.

'If you don't believe me, they'll be brought in shortly. You can see for yourself. However, I'd really rather you come down now. You're damaging the whole air filtration system while you're up there. It's really very rude of you.' Sela paused. 'Perhaps, if you continue to forget your manners in this way, I'll forget _my_ manners when your friends arrive. And I know, I know… you're thinking "why bother, the Romulan is bound to kill them anyway"… well, you've got a point there. But you know as well as I do, Commander Yar, that a swift execution is not the worst fate that can befall one who finds themselves at the mercy of the Romulan Empire.'

Still, Tasha stared silently at the portrait.

'So, I'll do you a deal,' Sela continued. 'If you come down now, then when the time comes, you, your Captain, your hero and your paramour will have quick, clean, dignified ends. If you continue to clog up my filter, I'll keep them alive.' She smiled wistfully to herself. 'Humans snap like dry twigs under our torturers… even ones as resilient as you believe your Captain to be. Vulcans take considerably more effort, but it's just so satisfying when they finally crumble that it really is worth the extra patience. And I take it you've been reading up about Dr Poklar's work… she has a number of prototypes that she's just itching to try out on a genuine Soong model. I have faith in her. I'm sure that she'll find some way or other of causing the android tremendous pain.' Sela sat back. 'I wonder what sort of sound a machine makes when it screams. I'd be delighted to find out…'

Tasha opened the grate and slid down the wall to the floor. Sela offered her a tight smile.

'Isn't that much better, now?'

Her weapon still trained on Tasha, she held out a hand to receive her phaser. Once Yar was disarmed, she tapped a communications hub.

'I'm ready for the prisoners.'


	23. Chapter 23

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Generation Gap

-x-

Part 2

-x-

Sela turned back to Tasha, her own phaser still unshakingly aimed at the other woman.

'Get rid of that disguise,' she ordered. 'Who do you hope to fool?'

Tasha began to remove her prosthetics. 'And who exactly did _you_ intend to fool with that plan to disguise yourself as me?'

Sela shrugged. 'Oh… just your close colleagues, your nearest and dearest… to be honest, they are rather stupid. I'll give you credit though; even though it failed, I never expected you to execute the same plan as us before we had the chance to.'

Tasha finished peeling off her forehead. 'Perhaps we're more alike than we give each other credit for.'

Sela scowled at her, frostily. 'We have nothing in common.' She paused. 'I notice you're quite distracted by the picture.'

Tasha blinked. She hadn't realised she'd still been looking at it.

'And in answer to the question I'm sure you're about to ask,' Sela continued, 'yes, the man with me there is my father. Now, he is a hero worthy of reverence. He is _respectable_.'

'Respectable,' Tasha echoed. 'Your mother's rapist is "respectable"?'

Sela took a sudden, angry step towards Tasha, but brought herself under control, quickly. 'He is _not_ a rapist,' Sela snarled. 'How can you rape a whore?'

'He told you that?'

'He didn't need to tell me. I have you as all the proof I need.' Sela's knuckles were practically white around her phaser. 'Isn't it true that you can't even remember how old you were when you lost your virginity, or how many men have had you?'

Tasha nodded smoothly. 'That's the truth. But that's only because…'

'Spare me the sad story. Even in Starfleet, you were no better. Even now. You flirt shamelessly with male officers – even your Captain; you have developed a practically filial bond with a Klingon that even other Klingons don't wish to speak with; you allow that meddling slattern of a Betazoid into your mind; and…' Sela leaned in close so that she could practically spit the end of her statement in Tasha's face, 'you fuck a machine.'

'He's no more a machine than either of us,' Tasha told Sela quietly.

'Do I have to rip it open and show you the wires?' Sela barked. 'It's a machine, no matter how much you anthropomorphise it. You're worse than a whore. You're a degenerate.'

'Did people say the same of your father,' asked Tasha, 'for sleeping with a human?'

The phaser in Sela's hand was beginning to tremble. 'Everything I learn about Natasha Yar is shameful. Shameful! I am so proud of my father for giving you the execution you deserved. The only thing I will never comprehend about him is how he ever fell under your spell in the first place.'

Tasha smiled serenely. 'But I'm not her.'

Sela furiously opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment, the door opened and Picard, Spock and Data were ushered through by armed Romulans. Sela turned to them, her phaser still aimed at Tasha.

'Well, gentlemen,' she greeted, testily. 'It will appear that your little "Secret Weapon" was not as effective as you'd hoped.' She gestured for Tasha to stand with the others and then moved over to her desk. 'Still. Now you can all stand together while you…' Sela faltered. 'You know what…? I was going to give you and your friends the chance to gain a little leeway with us, Ambassador. I'd written you a speech and everything. You were going to assist us in ushering an invasion force onto Vulcan, in return for certain… kindnesses in your capture.' She stood back, with a scowl. 'But why should I even bother? You'd only refuse.'

'Indeed,' Spock replied, 'I would.'

'So why should I give you the opportunity to reject my offer – to look down your nose at us; arrogant old has-been that you are?' She began to move away from her desk once more. 'No. We have a perfectly good holographic image of you that will do the job just as well. _I_ reject _you_, Ambassador Spock.' She turned, and eyeballed the four prisoners. 'I reject all of you.' She paused. 'I have work to do. The ships are closing in on Vulcan as I speak, and I have the relatively simple task of persuading the idiots in Starfleet that they mean no harm. The four of you may stay here while Vulcan falls – as your Commander Yar has already discovered, there is no way out of this office. After that…' she smiled, bitterly. 'I eagerly anticipate your slow, painful, humiliating deaths.'

At that, she and her guards swept out of the office, leaving the door to shut fast on the four prisoners behind them.

'I think,' Tasha admitted after a brief silence, 'I might have made her angry.'

'What did you say to her?' Picard asked.

Tasha shrugged. 'Guess I just have a knack for infuriating people.' She gave Data a small smile.

'Tasha,' added Data, 'did you not tell me that you would most assuredly _not_ be captured on this mission?'

'Data, now is not the time for "I told you so"s.'

'Nevertheless…' began Spock.

'Anyway,' Tasha continued, quietly, 'you got captured before I got captured…'

'_Nevertheless_,' repeated Spock, a little louder, 'I believe that this situation may, in fact, be used to our advantage.'

'How?' asked Picard.

'Sela was indeed enraged when she left us here,' Spock explained, 'and rage has a tendency to cloud judgement. I have reason to believe that, in her anger, she overlooked the fact that, for Commander Yar to have been studying her files, we must have the computer's access codes.'

As one, the prisoners turned their heads to look at the large computer bank built into the wall.

'Commander Data,' muttered Picard, 'do you think you can seize control of the holographic programmes from here?'

Data moved swiftly to the computer. 'I believe that it is a possibility,' he replied.

'So, we turn the holographic Spock's address into a warning?' Tasha clarified.

'Indeed.'

Tasha shrugged with feigned nonchalance. 'Another day, another planet saved. Now all we need is a way we can all get out of here in one piece.'

'Sela has proved herself to be easily distracted,' reasoned Spock. 'If we can utilise that, we may find ourselves with a window in which to escape.'

'Distract them with something shiny and then run away?' Tasha grinned. 'No offence, but isn't that a little old fashioned?'

Spock simply arched an eyebrow.

'I think,' Picard announced, 'I have a plan.'

-x-

Tasha looked down at the fallen figure of Commander Sela.

'Good plan, Sir,' she admitted. 'The old "holographic rescue party and fake wall" trick. Never fails.'

Picard stepped over one of the stunned guards. 'We'd better hurry. The nearest entrance to the underground system is over 200 metres away, and we don't particularly want to run into any more of Sela's people.'

Tasha allowed the two older men out first, and then brought up the rear with Data.

'I wish you'd have let me knock her out,' she muttered to the android.

'Why?' Data asked. 'Do you believe that you are more proficient at performing the Vulcan nerve grip than I?'

'Data,' Tasha replied, 'there are times in life when a swift punch to the face is the only reasonable response.'

'And you believe that that was one of those occasions?'

'I certainly do.'

Data raised his eyebrows. 'I apologise if you consider my action to have been inappropriate. However…'

Ahead of them, Picard and Spock stopped at a narrow door.

'An emergency evacuation point,' Spock explained. 'It will lead to an underground service tunnel.'

While Tasha and Data ensured that the corridor was indeed clear, the Vulcan tapped a code into the combination lock and opened the door. He and Picard went through while the others hurried to catch up. Just as Tasha put her hand on the door, however, she heard a voice.

'Sela?' spoke the deep voice from the hallway behind her. 'What has gone wrong? Why is…'

Tasha turned, training the phaser she had stolen from Sela's unconscious body on to the large Romulan male. Her eyes widened. It was him. The Romulan from the picture. It was Sela's father.

'You…' she breathed.

The Romulan's expression of recognition and horror mirrored her own, sickening feelings. 'Tasha. I…' he trailed off, at a loss for words.

In his shock, Sela's father hadn't even drawn his weapon, but Data was fast to confiscate it from him in any case. 'Are you acquainted with this person?' asked the android.

'Yes and no,' Tasha muttered.

'I…' the Romulan was still floundering.

Tasha felt her knuckles tighten around the phaser. 'What's the matter?' she taunted, despite herself. 'You look like you've seen a ghost.'

The Romulan took a deep breath and shook his head. 'Sela told me you were still in Starfleet… some sort of pan-dimensional accident…'

'Darndest thing, huh?' Tasha replied through clenched teeth. 'I just won't stay dead.'

'This is Sela's father,' Data realised, 'is it not?'

'What have you done with Sela?' the Romulan asked. 'Is she safe?'

'Damn site safer than you are right now,' Tasha replied.

Sela's father blinked in realisation, and slowly raised his hands in surrender. 'I see.'

'Tasha?' Data asked. 'How is it that you propose we resolve this situation?'

Tasha ignored the android's question. 'How many times did you rape me, old man?'

The Romulan shook his head. 'You don't even know my name, do you, Tasha?'

Tasha squeezed the phaser a little harder. 'I don't _want_ to know your name! How many times did you rape me?'

'I must remind you, Tasha,' continued Data, with a rising level of urgency, 'that it was not "you", per se, who was a captive on Romulus. I must also remind you that if you are seeking to use any unnecessary violence to wreak vengeance upon an unarmed man, then…'

'Tell me!' ordered Tasha.

'It wasn't like that,' pleaded the Romulan.

'Did I beg?' Tasha continued, her voice growing harsher as her throat tensed. 'Did I cry? Did I scream? Did I tell you about my childhood, and the things that had been done to me back then?'

'Tasha…' Data warned.

'I was always gentle,' the Romulan told her. 'I was always courteous and kind to you.'

'Right up until the day you murdered me.'

'Tasha…' was that a tear the old Romulan was blinking away…? 'You broke my heart.'

'Don't,' seethed Tasha.

'I _loved_ you!'

Tasha lunged forward so that her phaser was pressed against the Romulan's chest. 'Don't you dare!'

'Tasha!' warned Data again.

'Don't you dare use that word to describe what you did! Don't you dare use that word so simply! You can't lock me in a cage and play with me when it suits you and take away everything that I am and call that love. How dare you, you… you…'

She felt a firm, cool hand grasp hers, and pull the phaser up towards the ceiling. Until she felt the steady grip of the android, she hadn't realised that she was shaking.

'Let me go, Data.'

'No.'

'Let me _go_!'

'I will not allow you to do this, Tasha.'

Her hand was still tight around the phaser. The face of the Romulan in front of her began to blur as hot tears welled up in her eyes.

'He's a murderer.'

'But you,' Data told her, 'are not.'

Tasha took a long, deep breath…

…and held it…

…and let go of the phaser.

It slipped from her hand into Data's, who swiftly span it in his palm, pulled back his arm and slammed the hilt of the weapon into the Romulan's temple. Sela's father fell to the ground with a pained moan.

Tasha blinked at Data as he pulled her towards the evacuation door.

'I thought it pertinent not to provide him with the opportunity of alerting others to our escape,' Data explained. 'Besides which, is it not the case that "there are times in life when a swift punch to the face is the only reasonable response"?'

-x-

Home.

Yeah, it really did feel good to be back on the Enterprise. Her quarters seemed particularly luxurious and spacious after the ride home in that damned Klingon ship. Nevertheless, she found once there that she didn't want to sprawl in her big, comfortable bed and sleep for hours on end as she had assumed she would. Instead, she felt a sudden urge to visit a particular place she hadn't been to in some time. She went to the holodeck and accessed Wonderland. Once there, she quickly walked away from the oversized funfair, and slithered down a steep hill until she found herself in a peaceful forest glade. She sat at the foot of a tree, picking at the wildflowers and letting her mind wander.

She was uncertain how long she'd been there before she heard footsteps behind her.

'Hi, Data.'

'Hello.' There was a brief pause. 'I hope that you do not object to my disturbing you. I believed that it was necessary for us to speak in private, concerning the incident immediately prior to our escape on Romulus.'

'That's OK,' Tasha muttered.

Data sat down next to her. 'You may be encouraged to know that I have not included any details about the exchange in my report other than the fact that a single Romulan officer noticed us during our flight, whom I disarmed and knocked unconscious as you distracted him. May I suggest that your own report be similarly… vague.'

'Sure,' nodded Tasha, concentrating on the carpet of flowers, 'thanks.'

There was another pause.

'Tasha?'

'Mmm?'

'I have noticed that your face is flushed and your eyes are bloodshot. Have you been crying?'

Tasha blinked and frowned. 'Not sure.' She wiped her face. It was wet. 'Guess so.'

Data nodded. 'Am I to understand that, although you personally were never forced to be a Romulan concubine, the experience of being faced with a man who had raped and killed an alternate Tasha Yar was traumatic for you?'

'Pretty much.'

'I consider myself fortunate never to have been in a situation of sexual violation. Even if I were, being devoid of emotion would shield me from the distress that you must have suffered as a girl.'

Tasha shook her head. 'You make it sound like it was all in the past. It's still with me, every day. You think about what you'd do if you ever saw one of those men again. Sometimes the thought of that makes you cringe and panic; you think if you ever saw one of those faces again you'd just want to run away and hide. But most of the time, you actually want to bump into them again. You relish the thought, because then you'd be able to get your own back on them. You'd be able to hurt and humiliate them the way they did you. You think up all these crazy revenge fantasies, where they're crying and begging for mercy, and you just laugh… and, of course you know it's just a fantasy, but sometimes you just need it to keep you going.' She paused. 'A long, long time ago, I made up my mind that the best revenge was to live my life well while all those bastards rotted on Turkana, and I did just that… but in the back of my mind, in some dark dreams in the middle of the night, those images of bloody revenge were still there. And then the other day, I was faced with the opportunity to take that revenge. It wasn't just Sela's father standing in front of me with his arms up – it was every man who's ever used me. And I…' She trailed off.

'You did not kill him,' Data reminded her, 'even though you had the opportunity.'

'Exactly,' Tasha breathed. 'I couldn't do it. Even if you hadn't intervened, I knew in my heart of hearts that I just couldn't do it.'

'I do not believe that that is anything to become discouraged over,' Data told her. 'Quite the contrary, in fact. You did not allow your anger to overshadow your reason, or your morality.'

'What do I do with this anger?' Tasha muttered, more to herself than to the android at her side. 'It's been over fifteen years, and I can't silence it. And now I know that I can't even act on it. What do I do now?'

Data paused for a moment. 'Earlier in this conversation,' he noted, 'you told me that you considered the best revenge upon your attackers was to live well – to raise yourself above their level. Is that in itself not "acting upon your anger"?'

Tasha gazed sideways at him. 'Are you telling me that the anger's a good thing? That I have to keep using it as a catalyst for my life – my career?'

'Having no first hand experience of anger, I cannot tell you whether I believe that it is "good" or "bad". However, I have noticed amongst my human companions an ability to transfer negative emotions into positive actions. It is an admirable skill.'

Tasha smiled down into her lap. 'Don't tell me you were actually proud of me back there.'

'I am incapable of pride,' replied Data. 'However, I personally consider your actions during the escape from Romulus to have been… commendable.'

She rested her head on his shoulder. 'Thank you.'

She paused, closing her eyes. 'I think I can go to sleep now.'

And that was exactly what she did.


	24. Chapter 24

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

The Great Escape

-x-

One

-x-

As ever, the last rays of evening sunlight blushed the bottom of the sparse, fluffy clouds pink and tangerine, and sent long shadows streaking across Wonderland's surface. As ever, a few stars shone in the blue twilight of the sky, and a warm summer breeze gently rustled the tree tops. Tasha took in a deep breath of pine-scented air, and exhaled it with a contented sigh.

'I don't feel like walking any more,' she announced, sitting down on the springy moss. 'Let's just stay here for a while.'

Data paused, declining to sit. 'I should leave.'

'What?' Tasha blinked up at him. 'Is it something I said?'

'No.'

Tasha shrugged. 'So why leave? We're both off duty, I've got the Holodeck booked for a whole hour…'

'I have a prior engagement with Counsellor Troi. I am already overdue for it by three minutes and…'

'With Deanna…?' Tasha frowned. 'Don't tell me you're having Counselling sessions.'

Data shook his head. 'I have agreed to play her at chess.'

Tasha arched her eyebrow. 'You told _Deanna_ you'd play her at chess?'

'Yes.' Data faltered for a moment, then took the decision to sit down next to Tasha. 'Your reaction is most puzzling. Does it amuse you that Counsellor Troi enjoys chess?'

'No,' Tasha retorted, 'I'm just amazed that you've served with the woman for five years and not yet realised that she is the most evil chess opponent in the Universe.'

'Evil…?' echoed Data with a frown.

'Trust me, Data. You do _not_ want to get into a game with her.'

'But I am capable of calculating the projected…'

'Even so, Data, your chances of beating her are negligible. Trust me. She's like a chess ninja. You think you're doing OK, and then… bam! Checkmate, outta nowhere.'

Data blinked down at his knees. 'I was not aware that she was so proficient…'

'That's because she Hustles.' Tasha smiled at him. 'Let me guess. There's a bet riding on it.'

'Only a tokenistic gesture that the loser must perform,' Data admitted.

'Well,' replied Tasha, 'whatever it is, I'm sure it can wait.' She paused for a moment. 'Data, I asked you here because there was something I wanted to talk to you about.'

Data nodded, levelly. 'Very well. Proceed.'

She giggled a little at his needless formality. 'We've been spending a lot of time together recently, haven't we, Data?'

'That is true.'

'I enjoy your company.'

Data nodded. 'I find you to be a most interesting companion.'

'It's not just that…' Tasha hugged her knees. 'I've been thinking a lot since the undercover mission on Romulus. Well… since before then, I suppose. Only, I keep seeing that moment with Sela's father over and over again…'

'There is no cause for you to dwell on the matter,' Data replied. 'The incident passed with no serious consequence, and as I stated before, I believe that there is no need for the details of what happened to be publicised…'

'I almost murdered an unarmed man,' Tasha reminded him, quietly, 'and you talked me out of it.'

'Does that distress you?'

'No,' Tasha breathed. 'Not any more. I could have destroyed my career – destroyed the essence of my morality, and you… you took my hand and you talked me out of it.' She glanced across at him. 'You're… you're good for me, Data. You're good for my heart.' She swallowed, glad that he did not interject but remained silent, waiting for her to continue. 'And I've got to thinking,' she added after a moment, 'that maybe, if I were to stop running away from facing up to certain realities… maybe I could be good for you too.'

'Tasha…' Data attempted, his expression set in confusion.

But Tasha was on a roll now, and didn't want to stop to answer any questions just yet. 'I'm not under any false illusions. I know it would require more patience and concentration than I've ever been able to put into any relationship before, but I just think… I just want to _try_. I want to try to give something back, and not just take all the time.' She stared at him. 'Do you know what I mean?'

Data shook his head apologetically. 'I do not.'

'What I'm trying to say is…' She faltered. 'What I'm _trying_ to say… is…' She blinked. What _was_ she trying to say? She'd completely lost her train of thought. Completely lost… lost…

She looked around herself. She was lost. What was this – a forest? What the Hell was she doing in the middle of a forest, with night drawing in? She turned back and looked at her companion. The pale man's expression matched her own confusion. A sudden wave of panic hit her, and she rose to her feet. She'd never seen that man before in her life. She was in the middle of the forest with a perfect stranger.

'Who are you?' she demanded.

The man continued to frown, and jerked his head as though trying to roll a marble around inside his skull. 'I do not know,' he admitted, with an air of mild surprise. He too rose to his feet. 'Who are you?'

She opened her mouth and paused. Her mind was simply blank. 'I…' she sheepishly replied, 'I don't know, either.'

'I do not believe that it is the normal status for two people to find themselves in a forest with no memory,' stated the stranger.

She smiled a little. 'You don't say.'

The man blinked. 'I just did.'

She giggled, in spite of the severity of the situation. 'Something's obviously wiped our memories. We must have been out here together and then…' she snapped her fingers. 'All gone.'

The man cocked his head. 'Why do you believe that we were here together when the amnesia struck?'

'Look at our clothes.' She pulled at her tunic a little. 'We're dressed exactly the same. That can hardly be a coincidence. Maybe we're soldiers, or police…'

'We could be escaping convicts, or laboratory experiments' chipped in the man.

'What makes you think that?'

The pale man shrugged his eyebrows a little. 'I am merely suggesting all possible options.'

'Well, you're not helping.' She swung her arms about herself, aimlessly. 'Whoever we are, I don't think it's a good idea for us to stay in these woods. We should try to find some civilisation; see if someone can get us to a hospital, perhaps.' She frowned. 'Maybe we're not alone. Maybe we can communicate with…'

She blinked. She and the man exchanged glances as an unspoken realisation passed between them. They had communicators! Of course!

The man was faster than her and tapped the comms badge on his chest before she could get to her own. Nothing happened. Since she was sure that one should announce oneself after touching the device, she tried tapping her own and calling 'Hello…?'

She tapped it again, still not entirely sure what to expect. 'Is anybody there…?'

'They appear not to be working,' the man told her. 'Perhaps whichever event wiped our memories has also disabled these devices.'

She nodded. 'At least we know we've got them, right? Maybe someone'll contact us soon. I still think we should get out of this forest.'

'Agreed.'

She looked around herself. 'But which way do we go?'

The man indicated off towards the setting sun. 'There is faint music issuing from that direction.'

She frowned. 'Really?' She couldn't hear a thing save for birdsong and the rustle of the leaves overhead.

The man nodded. 'It is probable that if we follow it, we shall find more people. Perhaps they will be able to offer us assistance.'

He began to stride off in the direction he had pointed, much faster than his strange gait should have allowed him to on such terrain. She paused for a moment and then, as some inbuilt reaction within her told her that the man could be trusted, followed him.

It took her some effort to catch up with him, which surprised her since she was obviously in good physical health and a speedy walker herself. Wordlessly, they soon settled into a stride that was more comfortable for her and they walked side-by-side whenever the path was thick enough.

She glanced at her companion as they walked. He was, she decided, very… odd. She knew that it was absurd to judge him to be peculiar when she had no frame of reference to compare him to, but still the description stuck in her mind. He was odd. Everything about him was odd – the way that he spoke, the way that he moved… and then there was his appearance. His skin was a deathly pallor compared to hers, and although his body was made up of a series of neat, straight lines, he had a face that didn't seem to fit together quite right. She had no idea whether she thought he was handsome or ugly. Maybe he was neither. Maybe he was both. But there was something else about him – as she studied him, no matter how odd she found him, she felt the sensation of a deep, instinctive bond with the man… more than that – an _attraction_. That was it. Perhaps, she mused to herself as they walked, she and the pale man were lovers. That would certainly explain their sojourn into the woods. Perhaps they'd even deliberately disconnected their communicators beforehand so as not to be disturbed.

They came to a steep incline and the man stopped to offer her a hand up. She politely refused his help, judging by her physical strength that she would be able to climb it easily herself, but offered him a warm smile of acknowledgment as she did so. He merely nodded, blankly. What if, she pondered, the man did not feel the same attraction as she did? What if she was locked in an unrequited love? She hoped that that wasn't the case. It sounded terribly sad to her.

She could hear the music that the pale man had spoken of now, and as she reached the top of the steep slope she found herself clear of the trees and able to see a funfair running across a road at the other end of a small meadow. She took a second to catch her breath, noticing that, strangely, the pale man appeared neither tired nor out of puff from the climb. Then, she began to cut across the wildflower-strewn meadow which separated them from the funfair.

'You know,' she added conversationally as she walked, 'if we _are_ escaped lunatics or something, we're probably letting ourselves in for a world of trouble here.'

'I suspect that to be unlikely to be the case,' replied the man. 'I doubt that such people would be as equipped as we are. A more likely hypothesis would be that we are officials of sorts.'

'Perhaps,' she muttered. She wasn't entirely sure that she _wanted_ to be an official of sorts. That would mean that people would turn to her for guidance and answers. At that moment in time she was perfectly content simply to be walking through a pretty meadow in the summer sunset with this strangely agreeable man.

He was still looking at her as they walked, as though waiting for her to make a further reply. She had none to make, but was suddenly struck with an impulsive feeling to make a physical display of togetherness with him. She decided to follow the impulse – if he refused her touch, at least she'd know where she stood. She wound an arm around his, so that they were linked at the crook of the elbow. He looked down at their entwined arms briefly, but made no complaint. She beamed. He met her smile a little awkwardly, and took her hand.

As they approached the funfair, she became aware that something about it was amiss. Her companion too squinted up at the too-tall attractions.

'Everything is approximately double size to us,' he noted.

She nodded at an oversized bearded man at the stall closest to them. 'So are the people. What do you suppose…?'

'I do not believe that we are infants,' reasoned the man, since we both appear to have reached sexual maturity…'

She liked hearing him say the word "sexual". The matter-of-fact tone in which he'd spoken it made it sound all the filthier and more inviting to her. She bit down a smile.

'It is possible,' he continued, 'that this is not the world of our origin. Perhaps we are aliens here.'

'But apart from the size,' she argued, 'these guys look exactly like us.' She shrugged. 'Maybe we're midgets.'

'But our uniforms…'

'Circus outfits,' she hazarded. 'Whatever we are, we're not going to work it out just standing around here. I'm going to ask for help.'

She walked up to the man at the stall.

'Step right up,' the stallholder was calling, 'step right up, hook a duck and win a prize. A fabulous prize every time. Roll up…'

She had to stand on tiptoe to reach the counter. 'Excuse me…'

The giant beamed down at her. 'Well hello there, Missy. Want to hook a duck? Win a prize for you or your Sweetie?'

'We're lost,' she explained. 'Our memories have been wiped. Has there been an accident or an explosion or… or something?'

'Prize every time,' added the giant.

'Has anybody at this funfair suffered amnesia recently?' she asked.

The man passed her a hook on the end of a large broomstick. 'Let you have a go for free, Missy, 'cause I like your disposition.'

'No,' she instisted, 'I don't want to hook a duck. I want… is there a medic on site, or a hospital nearby…?'

But the giant wasn't listening. 'Roll up,' he called into the street, 'roll up! Hook a duck and win a…'

She turned, frowning. The pale man had accosted a giant woman with a tray of toffee apples.

'Pardon me,' he asked her politely, 'but we appear to have suffered a misfortune…'

'Wanna toffee apple, Sweetheart? Only a penny.'

'Do you have any means of communication upon your person, Madam?' continued the pale man, 'or perhaps directions to the nearest town?'

'Here.' The woman handed down two of the sticky fruits. 'One for you and one for your little friend. You take care, now.' With that, the giantess ruffled his pristinely groomed hair with a sugary hand and strode away, calling her wares.

The pale, and now slightly caramelised man held out the second toffee apple for his companion as she approached. 'This appears to be for you,' he told her, with a slightly sheepish air.

She felt a little hungry, so she accepted the extended candy. 'This is all very strange.'

'Might they all have been subjected to amnesia?' the man asked.

'They're not acting like they have,' she replied. 'They're acting like… like they don't understand anything besides hooking ducks and buying candy. They're acting as if this funfair is their entire world, and anything beyond it is unimaginable. Add that to their size, and… I don't think these are real people at all.'

'They do have a certain… pre-programmed element to them,' the man contemplated. 'Perhaps this funfair is entirely automated, down to the staff.'

'Perhaps,' she agreed. 'Whatever it is, I don't think we're going to find any help here. We'd better just keep on walking.'

They took a narrow offshoot of the main road, which quickly lead them away from the funfair and onto a coastal trail. The pale man didn't seem to want his toffee apple, so she ate that as well. Even after she'd wiped the last of the sugar from her lips, he was still attempting to pick the caramel out of his hair. She laughed a little and stopped to help him. Again, he didn't protest as she ran her fingers through his hair, combing out the worst of the gunk.

'Do you…' She faltered, then plucked up the nerve to start again. 'Do you feel anything between us?'

The pale man blinked, moving his head as though to dislodge a cranial marble yet again. 'I do not understand.'

'I just…' She gnawed at her lip a little. 'I don't recognise you, but I feel as though I should.'

'As you suggested,' reasoned the man, 'there is a probability that we were companions before our memories were erased.'

'But there's more to it than that,' she added.

He made no reply, save to blink at her again.

Her hand still hadn't left his hair. She curled her fingers gently around the hair at the side of his head. She moved her mouth towards his a little, and, to her relief, he drew yet closer to her. Her fingertip found a thin, straight line running down towards his ear – a scar, she presumed… only, as she ran her finger down the scar tissue, her fingernail somehow slipped through it, and under his skin. She panicked, and pulled her hand away.

And a chunk of his scalp fell off.

'Augh!' She stepped back a little and gazed from the fallen chunk of scalp on the pathway up to the smooth chrome, twinkling with diodes on the side of the face where the hair and skin had previously been. Really, considering the circumstances, she felt that she should have been more shocked and horrified than she actually was. For some reason, after the initial surprise, the sight of the man's metal skull sparkling through the hole in his scalp didn't disturb her in the least.

The man gazed down at his hair, even less fazed than she. 'Oh,' was his only response. He picked up the scalp and gingerly brushed at the hole in his head with his fingertips.

'You're an android,' she breathed.

'It would appear so,' replied the android, calmly, as he reattached his hair. 'Does that distress you?'

She shook her head. 'Guess, whoever I am, I'm used to it. Those fairground giants were probably electronic too. Perhaps this whole world is full of androids.' She frowned suddenly and checked her own scalp, just in case. She felt nothing but hair, follicles and the odd scar which, on further inspection, turned out to be genuine scar tissue and nothing more. Even if the world _was_ full of mechanical people, it would appear that she at least was biological.

The android started walking again, and she followed him.

'Does it distress _you_?' she asked.

'No,' replied the pale android, matter-of-factly. 'It does pose many new questions about myself and my place in this world, although the revelation has also, I believe, explained several discrepancies in the different ways that you and I respond to stimuli.'

They turned a corner, leaving behind a large outcrop of rock, which had been shielding their view of much of the coastline for some time. A large beach house suddenly came into sight, not far from where they walked. The windows of the house were full of cheerful yellow light, and a line of smoke wound out of the chimney. They exchanged glances.

'Perhaps,' added the android, 'the inhabitants of this domicile may be able to offer us assistance.'

They approached the house which, she noted with some relief, was a normal scale compared to their own size and attempted to knock at the door. The door, however, swung open of its own accord at the very first knock.

She froze, her fist still mid-knock. 'Hello…?'

The android stepped inside, cautiously. 'Is there anybody present?'

She joined him in the large, open living room. There was a certain something about the house; as with the android, she didn't recognise it as such, but she felt an automatic fondness for it, as though it was something very special to her. 'Guess there's nobody home.'

'In which case,' the android pondered, 'why are the lights on? And why has a fire been left to burn?'

She took in her surroundings. The android was right – all the lights in the living room were on, and a large wood fire was crackling merrily in the hearth. She could even smell a waft of fresh coffee issuing from the kitchen. 'Maybe the owners are in some kind of trouble,' she frowned, picking at a particularly pretty silk throw, draped over a plump, soft armchair, 'maybe they had to leave in a hurry, or…' She noticed the painting above the fireplace. 'Wait a minute…'

'A clue?' asked the android.

'I'll say.' She approached the painting, ran her finger over it and beamed delightedly. 'Look at this picture.'

The android regarded it from his position. 'It appears to be cubist in nature – possibly the representation of a man and a woman.'

'No "possibly" about it,' she retorted, her grin not fading. 'Look at it! This is _us_!'

The android blinked, stared at her, checked his reflection in a mirror and looked up at the painting again. 'That does appear to be the case.'

'_We're_ the owners,' she breathed. 'This is our house. I _knew_ it!'

'Would we have left an open fire burning for so long?' asked the android.

'We were probably only going out for a quick walk when our minds were wiped,' she answered absently, flitting merrily about the room's furniture and decorations. 'Would you just look at this place? Everything's so… perfect…'

'If we are merely a local couple,' added the android, 'and not soldiers or officials on duty, then why are we dressed in matching uniform?'

She shrugged, inspecting a vase. 'Maybe we're one of those annoying couples who always dress the same.'

'And you believe that we are definitely a romantic couple…?'

She turned to him. 'Don't you?'

'I do not know,' he admitted, 'since I have no memory prior to our being in the forest. I am aware that I have the capacity for sexual relations; however… if you are an organic sentient being, and I am an android…'

'So what?' she shrugged. 'Like I said before, this world could be teeming with biological people and androids living together in harmony. Marrying an android might be no greater a taboo than… I don't know, marrying somebody with different coloured hair to you.' She paused. 'Or maybe it _is_ a taboo. Maybe that's why we live way out here on our own, by the sea. Maybe our love is forbidden.' She grinned again. Forbidden love sounded very exciting.

'Love…' echoed the android, emptily, then added; 'perhaps we are merely close companions.'

'I hope not,' she replied. 'Not considering the way I feel about you.'

The android frowned a little. 'How _do_ you feel about me?'

Seriously – after they'd held hands, after that moment on the beach trail, he still didn't know? A part of her told herself not to push her luck – that this android was, as far as she knew, the only companion she had at the moment, and that she should not do anything that might ruin the relationship that they already had. This was not, however, what her impulses were telling her to do. She wanted to try. She desperately wanted to at least try. For a moment, it felt as though her self-control was trying to tell her something, but had forgotten what it wanted to say. But, she decided, this situation was full of too much doubt already. She wanted to make herself clear with this strange, electronic man, and she wanted to know exactly where she stood with him.

She brushed her hand up the length of his arm. He continued to regard her curiously, neither removing her hand nor reciprocating to her touch. She moved her hand up over his shoulder, resting it finally on the nape of his neck and leaning towards him a little. As he had done on the coastal trail before, he copied her action, closing the gap between them until their lips were almost brushing. Taking this as a positive sign, she pushed gently on the back of his neck, guiding his lips towards hers. It was a sweet, still kiss, with lips only gently parted… not, however, she mused, the sort of kiss one would give one's Grandmother… not that she could remember ever kissing her Grandmother or even, in fact whether she ever had one to kiss in the first place… She felt a pressure on the small of her back as he put an arm around her hips. His other hand echoed her own, and found the short hair at the back of her head. Further encouraged, she tried increasing the pressure on his lips and opening her mouth a little against his, and was surprised and delighted when he responded to her action by pushing his tongue between her parted teeth. The hand above her hips pulled her in towards him, pressing her crotch against his and tipping her slightly so that she had to struggle to maintain her balance. This guy, she concluded, was much, much stronger than he looked. She was forced to pull away, if only to catch her breath and regain her equilibrium.

'So you feel it too,' she gasped.

The android shook his head, blankly. 'I feel nothing.'

She felt as though her stomach had just plummeted to the floor. 'What?'

'I do not believe,' he added, apologetically, 'that I am capable of feeling sexual or emotional attraction.'

'But…' she protested, 'but you reciprocated…'

'Yes,' he agreed, plainly.

'Why? You can't tell me there were no… no _urges_ behind the way you just kissed me.'

There was that marble-in-the-head movement again. 'I responded in the way that I judged to be… appropriate.'

Her stomach managed to drop even further. 'So all of that was just a matter of politeness to you?'

'I did not say that returning your actions of sexual initiation was an act of courtesy. Indeed, I believe that the polite response to an unwanted amorous approach would be to quickly and quietly decline the offer. However, it did not seem appropriate in this case to reject your advance, but to accept and encourage it, since your actions were not unwanted.'

'So…' she attempted, a little lost, 'you _do_ want me? You were just acting on your impulses as much as I did?'

'After a fashion,' he replied. 'It seemed…' he paused, searching for the correct term, '_right_… for me to kiss you.'

'It seemed right for me to kiss you, too,' she replied.

There was a brief silence between them, coloured by the crackling and popping of the fire.

After a moment, the android spoke. 'Do you wish to partake in sexual intercourse?'

'Do you?' she asked. 'I mean… does that seem right to you?'

'We are apparently co-habiting,' he replied, 'and the likelihood, given our situation and automatic reactions to one another, is that we are in a sexual relationship, which could potentially be damaged by our mutual memory loss. We are, it seems, at home, with no pressing objectives but to rediscover identities. I believe that exploring the physical element of our relationship would be an advantageous course of action at this point. Would you prefer to remove your apparel yourself or for me to do it for you?'

She sank into a soft armchair, quirking an eyebrow playfully. 'I love it when you talk dirty. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?'

'I… do not know,' replied the android, bewildered. 'I do not even know whether I _have_ a…'

She laughed. 'Shut up and come over here.'


	25. Chapter 25

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Part 2

-x-

She couldn't remember at what point exactly they'd fallen off the chair and onto the rug in front of the fire, but that was where they were now. Biological/android relationships _had_ to be socially acceptable, she reasoned to herself. Had to be! There was no way anything that much fun could possibly be frowned on.

'That was good.' She stretched out happily on the rug. 'Boy, was that ever good.' She paused. 'It _was_ good, right? For you, I mean?'

The android pondered this for a moment. 'It was… important.'

'"Important"?'

He thought again. 'Special,' he clarified.

She nodded, deciding to accept that as a good thing. 'So. Anything coming back to you yet, whoever-you-are?'

'None of my memory has returned,' replied the android. 'You?'

She shook her head, cheerfully. 'You want to know something crazy? I don't think I even _want_ it back right now.'

'But we have no concept of our identities…'

'That's not true,' she argued, genially. 'We have no concept of who we _were_. But we know who we are, right at this moment, don't we?' She propped herself up on her elbow, warming her naked back against the fire. 'We're just two people. Two people in this house by the sea. And that's all that matters right now. And you know what…?' She ran a hand through his hair. 'It's perfect. Everything's absolutely perfect just as it…'

'Oh,' interrupted a third voice, gruff and embarrassed.

The two naked lovers looked up as one at the large, dark man standing over them.

'Oh!' they chorused.

'Who are you?' She made futile attempts to cover herself from the intruder's gaze, although the man had already averted his gaze to the floor in front of them. The interloper, she noticed, was dressed the same as they had been, save for an extra decoration over his chest, and was even odder looking than the android, with a large stature, dark brown skin and a deeply furrowed brow that reached all the way to the top of his lofty head. 'How did you get into our house?'

'This,' the stranger told them, 'is not your house. It is not a house at all, but a holographic projection, which you appear to have been in since our memories were wiped. Everything that you have experienced since that event will have been a part of a simulation.'

'Oh,' chorused the pair again, in soft understanding. For some reason, like the revelation that her companion was electronic, the fact that the forest, meadow, fairground, coast and house were all fake, somehow didn't shock or upset her as much as she'd expect. It was almost as though she'd always known it, and simply had to be reminded of it.

'So,' she reasoned, 'where are we really?'

'On a Starship,' the intruder told them, plainly. 'I made an announcement from the Bridge some time ago explaining all that we knew at the time about the situation, but you failed to respond.'

'Our communication devices appear to be defective,' explained the android as he foraged for their clothes.

The stranger grunted. 'Many of our computer systems have been affected by the incident that wiped our minds. Perhaps the computer which controls this simulation cut off your ability to communicate…' He shook his large head. 'That is the least of our troubles at present. You're needed on the Bridge.'

She gratefully accepted the uniform that the android handed to her. 'We're Bridge crew on this ship?'

The stranger nodded. 'Senior officers. He indicated to the android. 'Your name is Data, you are a Lieutenant Commander – the ship's Operations Officer.' He paused, as though unsure whether to disclose a further fact. 'You are a… an artificial…'

'Artificial Life-form,' completed Data. 'We have already discovered that, Mr…?'

'Worf,' replied the large man. 'Lieutenant Worf…' he sighed a little. 'Sir.' He turned his attention to her. 'You are Lieutenant Commander Natasha Yar; Chief of Security.'

Natasha nodded as she pulled on her boots. It was nice to have a name, although she couldn't help but feel disappointed that she didn't share it with the man she'd assumed was her husband.

'What about personal information?' she asked.

'Such as…?'

'Where we're from,' shrugged Natasha as nonchalantly as she could, 'who our families are, whether we have children… partners…'

Worf shook his head. 'It has taken this long simply to access basic information about the Senior Crew. All we have at present are our names, ranks, positions and species. You are Human, by the way,' he added to Natasha, 'as is the majority of the crew.'

'That's nice,' Natasha muttered, half-heartedly.

Now both fully dressed, they followed Worf towards a strange feature in the far wall of the living room – a feature that Natasha was sure she had not seen earlier. It was a large, sleek arch, with a small computer panel on one side and what looked like metallic doors against the wall. The doors were shut fast, but as Worf approached they slid smoothly open to reveal a bright, sterile corridor beyond.

'So that's the real world,' noted Natasha, quietly.

'Welcome home,' replied Worf.

'Looks clean, at least.'

'Pristine,' confirmed Worf, with a vaguely disapproving air. Natasha noticed him give a small, wistful sigh before blinking out of it. 'Don't be concerned about your ability to work at your post, given your amnesia. We have all found that the ability to work what systems we do have in operation has come to us by instinct.'

Data frowned. 'How so?'

'We have no idea,' admitted Worf, 'we simply can. You should be able to switch off this Holodeck projection manually, for example.'

Data looked at him for a moment, then at the computer panel in the arch. His fingers flew over the panel's buttons for a split second, and then… and then the fire, the rug, the chair, the whole house, and the dusk-lit ocean beyond faded into a boxy, black, gridded room.

Natasha sighed. That was all there was? The whole world that they had known - that they had spent hours wandering through – was nothing but this dark little cell?

'Goodbye, house,' she breathed. She turned to step through the door into the corridor beyond. 'Hello, Natasha Yar.'

-x-

Natasha was learning new things to remember all the time. She liked coffee; she didn't like dogs; she could sing but she couldn't play trombone; and Satarrans were sneaky. Yeah, that was a new little factoid for the old memory bank. They were sneaky Sons of Bitches and if anybody tried to convince you that you were at war with a race called the Lycians, well, first of all they'd be lying and second of all they'd be a sneaky Satarran. And now, she was on her way to get all of her old memories back again, too. She squeezed Data's hand in the Turbolift. There was nothing that could be done for his memory in Sickbay, of course – although both he and Commander LaForge were working on a means of restoring his memory files, they had resigned themselves to the probability of the process taking much longer than the biological method Dr Crusher had worked out for the rest of them. Still, he had accepted her request for him to accompany her to the Sickbay. They hadn't had chance to talk about what had happened on the Holodeck, and they certainly hadn't had chance to find out whether they were already in a relationship with one another. Data, she had quickly realised, worked a lot. She had a feeling that this Turbolift ride was actually the first break from work he had taken since they'd stepped onto the Bridge. Still. She liked him. She liked him a lot. And it wasn't just the sex… although, she _did_ enjoy the sex. Did she love him…? She wasn't sure. She hadn't really wanted to consider the matter while all she knew of him was of those wonderful hours away from reality on the Holodeck. Maybe once her memory was back she'd know that she'd loved him for years. Perhaps that was why she felt so nervous.

The Turbolift came to a stop and they stepped out, still hand-in-hand. They were met by Dr Crusher as they stepped into the Sickbay. Counsellor Troi, sitting up on one of the beds, smiled at them.

'Hi Tasha. You're next, I take it…?'

'I have noticed,' said Data, 'that those who have had their memories returned shorten your name to "Tasha".'

'It's what she prefers,' shrugged the Doctor.

'I _do_ prefer it like that,' realised Tasha. 'Thanks.'

'Everything will be so much easier once your memory's back,' added Dr Crusher.

Tasha noticed the Doctor's eyes flit down to Data's hand, still entwined with hers. Almost immediately, Crusher's gaze shot up to meet Tasha's once more. The Doctor had an odd expression on her face.

'_I _feel much better anyway,' added the Counsellor, hurriedly.

The strange look on Dr Crusher's face vanished suddenly into a calm smile. 'It won't take long, Tasha. You'll be back to your old self in minutes.'

'Nevertheless,' Data interjected, releasing Tasha's hand, 'I am overdue in Engineering.'

Tasha nodded. 'Thanks for coming with me.' She paused, watching him as he turned to leave. 'Data, I'd very much like to talk with you after we've both got our memories back. Maybe we can have a drink, or…'

'I have no need to drink,' Data replied. 'However, I shall certainly seek to coordinate a meeting in which to converse with you on a personal level on a later occasion.'

'Sounds great.' Tasha waited for him to leave, and then turned to the other women with a giggle. 'Is he always such a smooth talker?'

Counsellor Troi gave her a small smile. 'Do you mind if I stay here for a few more minutes, Beverly? I'm still a little giddy from the process.'

'Be my guest.' Beverly Crusher guided Tasha down onto a second bed.

'Maybe after you're done we can grab something to eat in Ten Forward, Tasha?' Troi added.

Tasha didn't reply. Her life was already flashing in front of her eyes.

-x-

Deana and Tasha walked in silence for a moment.

'So,' ventured Deanna, once they were alone, 'how do you feel?'

'You know damn well how I feel,' Tasha replied quietly. 'I feel like I'd managed to get rid of a great weight on my back for a couple of days, just for it to be loaded right back onto me again.' She sighed. 'I was so free with my mind wiped – so free, and I didn't even know it. There was no Turkana, no Romulus, no Borg, no Sela… and none of my own dumb mistakes.' She snorted a sarcastic laugh. 'And of course, what does Tasha Yar always do the instant she's freed from the yoke of being Tasha Yar…? Why, she goes and propositions the android that never says no, and makes _another_ mistake to add to the pile.'

'I noticed you were holding hands.'

'So did Beverly,' realised Tasha. She remembered something else and buried her face in her hands. 'Oh God, Worf… Worf knows.'

'I think the whole ship probably knows by now,' Deanna told her, gently. She patted her friend on the shoulder. 'You're not exactly alone in this circumstance, you know. It's actually quite commonplace in this sort of situation for people to act on impulses that the benefit of experience would normally cause them to repress. As I said to Will and Ro Laren…'

'Oh yeah,' Tasha recalled softly. 'Will and Ro.' She screwed up her face a little. 'That one sure came out of the blue. I wonder what…' She trailed off. 'Ah, Geez. I'm doing the Face.'

'What "Face"?'

'The "I can't believe those guys slept with each other" Face.' Tasha frowned. 'That's the Face that people are pulling when they hear about me and Data, isn't it?'

'Tasha.' Deanna gave her friend a conciliatory smile. 'Will and Ro came as a surprise to a lot of people – including each other.'

'So Data and I aren't surprising now?'

Deanna's smile didn't budge. 'The rumours have been going around about you two for so long that most people suspect you of being a couple anyway.'

'Well, we're _not_ a couple, despite what people believe,' snapped Tasha. She paused. 'Despite what even _I_ believed,' she added. 'You know, I actually thought we were an item when my memory was gone. I actually thought we might be able to love each other, like a normal couple would.' She folded her arms and cast her eyes down. 'Talk about idiotic.'

'I don't think it's idiotic,' Deanna replied. 'Your head forgot about your chequered history together, but your heart remembered that he was dear to you.'

'Even before our memories were taken,' admitted Tasha, very softly, 'I'd been thinking about the possibilities of me and him giving it a proper try… and I _know_ that what he is got in the way between him and D'Sora, but I'm not Jenna D'Sora, OK?'

'I wasn't going to mention Jenna,' Deanna faintly protested. 'I don't think it's impossible for him to hold down a relationship. He's got a lot to give, and he wants to give it. I think if it's something you both want to try, then you should.'

'Aren't you the one who advised me to nip it in the bud because we just weren't what the other needed?'

'Yes,' Deanna conceded, 'four years ago, and yet we're still having this conversation. This obviously isn't the flash-in-the-pan infatuation that you first thought it was, so maybe you do need to think about accepting it. You just admitted that you were considering suggesting a romantic relationship with him before you lost your memory. What could have happened to change your mind?'

Tasha looked down again. 'Back on the Holodeck, when it was just him and me – no memories, no identities… everything was just so pure and exciting. All that mattered was the moment. And then, this hope began to grow in me. I hoped that the house we were in was our home, and it wasn't. I hoped that he and I were together, and we weren't. I hoped for this simple, blissful dream that I'd been shown…'

'But life isn't a dream,' Deanna argued. 'Life isn't simple, and real relationships are often very complicated…'

'I hoped,' Tasha interrupted, 'that he could love me. But he can't, can he? And I hoped that I could be good for him, and make him happy, but I'm not, and I can't. And I see that now.'

'So what are you going to do?'

'I don't know,' sighed Tasha.

'Do you still want to get some lunch?'

'Funnily enough, Deanna, I'm not hungry.'

-x-

Tasha wasn't sure how long she'd been staring at her empty coffee cup for when Data took the seat opposite her.

'So, you're back, I take it.'

'My memory has been fully restored,' Data replied, 'yes. You stated that you wished to speak with me once that had occurred.'

'I did,' sighed Tasha, 'didn't I?'

There was a pause. Tasha looked up at the android as he patiently sat and waited for her to continue.

'So,' she added at length. 'Looks like we did it again.'

'Are you referring to sexual congress?'

'Yes, Data.'

He nodded to himself. 'In which case, yes. We did indeed "do it again".'

'I should apologise,' she muttered, 'I came on pretty strong back there.'

'As I told you on the Holodeck,' Data replied, 'my response was made freely. If there is any blame to be laid it should be with us both. However, since at the time neither of us was aware of our earlier decision to avoid sexual contact with one another, I see no reason for us to consider the issue of blame. We have since been reminded of our resolution to abstain from sexual activities with each other, and can continue to act appropriately.'

'Are you saying that you want us to just go back to how we were before?'

'I do not "want" anything. I merely believe that it is the most pertinent response to the matter.'

She squinted at him. She noticed that he was not meeting her gaze directly, but focusing instead on her coffee cup. 'Are you all right, Data?'

He blinked, and met eyes with her at last. 'Of course.'

'You're not… upset about this?'

'I am incapable of feeling upset,' he reminded her, 'as you are well aware.'

'Hmm.'

'Are _you_ "upset" by the recent events, Tasha?'

She turned her gaze back down to her cup. 'No.'

There was another pause.

'Immediately prior to the loss of our memories,' said Data, suddenly, 'you appeared to be attempting to ask me something. You were making allusions to "being good for me" and "giving something back". I have not yet been able to decipher your meaning. If you do not mind; what is it that you were trying to ask?'

Tasha sighed. 'It doesn't matter any more, Data. Forget I said anything.'

It was only as he was getting up to leave that she realised she should clarify her last suggestion.

'I don't mean that literally,' she added. 'What I meant was…'

'I am aware of your meaning,' he replied. 'Good day.'


	26. Chapter 26

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Baby Got Your Head Screwed On

-x-

One

-x-

Tasha ran her finger around the rim of her empty glass. A distinctive laugh from the bar behind her told her that Lieutenant Llewellyn was drunk again. Well, could anyone blame him? It wasn't just that it was a party; it was a leaving party. One of his closest friends was off to head the security of some tin can Science ship out in the middle of nowhere. Of course he was hitting the sauce, especially if it was Worf who was filling his glass. She might have known that the Klingon would have picked up a few bottles of vodka on his latest visit to Earth, and naturally it was rational that he'd choose to honour the departing Security Officer with some real drink… And then, there was the other reason for drinking tonight. They'd all had quite an unpleasant shock…

Worf slammed a shot glass down on the table in front of her. 'Drink.'

She glanced up at him. 'I'm on duty soon.'

'I have seen you drink,' Worf reminded her. 'A single shot of vodka is highly unlikely to affect your abilities. Drink.'

'I'm fine with synthahol.'

Worf scowled at her, without menace. 'This is the finest vodka that Russia has to offer. My adoptive parents gave it to me as a gift to my comrades. _You_ are my comrade. Drink it.'

'I don't feel like drinking tonight,' sighed Tasha.

Worf glowered, and leaned in to her a little closer. 'I know that you are not a bitter woman,' he muttered into her ear, 'but it appears to some of the others that you feel Lieutenant D'Sora's service on the Enterprise has been unworthy of your celebration.'

'I think she's making the wrong decision,' Tasha replied, quietly, 'and I think, without meaning to, I've helped her to make it. That's why I don't feel like celebrating.'

'I don't care,' Worf replied. '_They _ don't care. D'Sora certainly doesn't care about whether you approve of her leaving or not. Stand up, make her a toast, congratulate her and drink the vodka.' He paused. '_Sir_.'

She stared at him, a grudging smile creeping onto her face. Nobody could make "Sir" sound quite as argumentative as Worf could. She got to her feet and cleared her throat. A hush descended over the bar, only occasionally interrupted by Llewellyn's muted giggle.

Tasha raised her glass. 'So, Jenna's leaving us today.'

She met eyes with D'Sora. The other woman nodded expectantly.

'I wish it weren't the case,' Tasha continued, 'as well you know. I'd hoped that Lieutenant D'Sora would continue the adventurous challenge of keeping security on Starfleet's flagship for many more years. However, I guess a command post is a command post, even if it _is_ nothing but three years of looking at rocks.'

Jenna laughed a little, silently.

'And besides,' continued Tasha, heartened that Jenna was taking her speech with good humour, 'there's no way any of you are going to get to be Chief of Security _here_ without taking the post out of my cold, dead hands…'

Somebody at the back – possibly one of the bar staff – muttered something that she was unable to make out, causing a handful of people to snicker. Tasha chose to ignore it.

'You're moving up,' Tasha continued, 'and I commend you for that, Jenna. And I know we haven't always seen eye to eye…'

Another joke was cracked at the back. Tasha pursed her lips for a moment, exchanging glances again with D'Sora. Dammit - everybody was muttering about it anyway, she might as well say it out loud.

'Well,' she added, as breezily as possible, 'maybe there was _one_ matter that we agreed a bit too closely on for comfort…'

A much louder laugh broke out throughout Ten Forward – laughing with her now, rather than at her. She was pleased to see that Jenna too was laughing along with the rest of them. Tasha added a slight, self-deprecating giggle of her own before continuing.

'You've been a credit to my team, D'Sora, and a credit to this ship. I'm proud of you. To Jenna.'

The assembled crew chorused her toast, and they all drank in unison. The vodka was crisp and pure, freezing her tongue and burning her throat. Damn, the Klingon was right. That was a fine vodka. And honour, it seemed, had been satisfied by her little speech. Worf wandered away from her and allowed her to sit back down, turn her back to the bar and contemplate.

Her peace didn't last for too long, however. She heard the scrape of the chair next to her and looked up in time to see D'Sora settling herself down at her table.

'Thanks for the speech.'

Tasha shrugged. 'Thanks for three great years of service.' She smiled tightly at the other woman. 'I meant what I said.' She paused. 'You're too good for the Iris, Jenna.'

'So you keep saying,' Jenna retorted. 'I can't believe that you're actually that desperate for me to stick around, after our… conflict of interests last year.'

Tasha regarded the Lieutenant seriously. 'Tell me that's not it, Jenna. Please tell me honestly that that's not the reason you've transferred. Goodness knows I've tried my darndest not to make you feel uncomfortable since then…'

Jenna grinned. 'I don't feel discomforted or intimidated by you, Commander. I think I'd be a pretty lousy Security Officer if I were. I just want my own command, that's all. It's time I moved on.' She paused. Something else was obviously troubling her. 'You haven't seen Data this evening at all…?'

Tasha frowned. 'You invited him?'

'Of course. We still met up, as friends. Admittedly, not as often as we had, but…' She trailed off. 'I just wanted to see him one more time, before…' she cut herself off again, abruptly.

'I saw him in Engineering a few hours ago,' Tasha admitted. 'I'm afraid he didn't mention anything about your party.'

'When I asked him to come,' added Jenna, 'he said he would "endeavour to attend the gathering, although current events may cause him to reprioritise his schedule against the favour of such an activity".'

'Yeah,' nodded Tasha, 'I'm afraid that's Data-speak for "I think I might be washing my hair".'

'I remember Data-speak,' smiled Jenna, wistfully. 'Guess he's pretty preoccupied of late.'

'Pretty much,' Tasha agreed.

'Because of the head thing…?'

'Because of the head thing.'

'How's he taking it?' asked Jenna.

'Oh,' Tasha shrugged, 'infuriatingly Zen-like. The usual way. It's been fairly distressing for the rest of us, though.'

'Tell me about it. It's not every day your ex-boyfriend's 500 year old severed head turns up in a cave.' Jenna frowned. 'Have you seen it? I can't look it in the eye. It's creepy.'

'It's horrible,' Tasha added. 'Beyond horrible. It's his death; his inevitable death, just… staring blankly at us all.' She paused. 'But what can we do? What can any of us do? All it tells us is that he's destined to die of decapitation. We don't know how, we don't know when… Well, technically we know _when_ it happens, but we don't know how that fits into our timeline. He could fall into the past tomorrow, or next year, or not for another thousand years. And even then, he could live a long, happy life in the past before whatever comes to pass, comes to pass. All this find tells us for sure is that he's going to die.'

Seemingly from nowhere, Guinan leaned in to their table and freshened the two women's drinks.

'But then,' interjected the Barkeep smoothly, 'isn't that exactly the same boat that the rest of us are all in?'

Before either of them could reply, Guinan had glided peacefully away.

Jenna watched the bartender seriously as she departed. 'D'you think she knows something…?'

'Of course she does,' Tasha retorted. 'She's Guinan. Damned if she's telling, though.' She took a sip of her drink. 'There's one thing I can tell from her, mind you. She hasn't got a headache.'

'Is that good?'

Tasha pondered this. 'I don't know.'

There was a long pause in their conversation.

'Do mind if I ask you a personal question, Commander?' added Jenna, eventually.

'Shoot.'

'What the Hell are you doing?'

Tasha blinked. 'Hmm?'

'Seeing me and Data together drove you to distraction, didn't it? Admit it!'

'What?'

'You thought the chance for the two of you to be together had passed you by,' Jenna continued, 'and it infuriated you. And now, here we all are – he's single, you're single and you've just been handed a pretty nonnegotiable deadline. Why aren't you doing anything?'

Tasha opened her mouth to peevishly respond.

'And don't tell me I don't understand,' Jenna interrupted, 'because I know what it's like to be crazy about that guy, I know how difficult it can be. But I also know that he's worth giving the benefit of the doubt. Data and me didn't work out… probably in retrospect it was always doomed not to work out, but you know what? I'm glad I tried. Even though it meant my friendship with him was never quite the same again, even though my working relationship with you was never completely healed… even though my mother went _crazy_ when she found out… it was better to have those few days trying to make it work than to spend year after year thinking "what if".'

Tasha stared at her for a moment, her lips still half parted, willing a suitable response to come to them. None did.

Jenna leaned in a little closer to Tasha and lowered her voice further. 'You know what? I want to cut you a break. Ever since he and I were an item there's been one piece of information that you've been just aching to know. And sometimes, when I was in a really petty, bitter mood, I actually revelled in holding it over you.'

Tasha shook her head. 'I don't know what you're talking about. I think you feel you know me better than you really do.'

'I know how possessive you can be, Commander,' D'Sora replied. 'Besides,' she added, 'Data told me outright that you seemed keen to know and asked me if it was right not to tell you.'

Tasha gazed down at her drink. 'Well, I guess that solves the mystery of who killed him. If anyone needs me I'll be in a darkened corner, replicating myself a hacksaw.'

D'Sora's earnest expression didn't change. 'We didn't have sex. That's what you wanted to know, wasn't it?'

Tasha blinked at her. 'You didn't?'

'I'd just come out of a serious relationship,' Jenna shrugged. 'I didn't want to rush into anything – I wanted it to be the right moment. Turns out there was never going to be a right moment for us.' She smiled. 'I'm not gonna tell you that nothing happened, just… _that_ didn't happen. I asked him just to hold me, and to talk, and to let me fall asleep in his arms.'

Tasha looked down at her drink again, picturing the scene. 'We never did that.'

'I know,' Jenna replied. 'I was the first person who'd ever asked that of him.'

Tasha took a sharp intake of breath. 'That's so sad.'

'You're making this sound so final,' Jenna noted, 'like you'll never get the chance to do those things. What I'm trying to tell you is that you _do_ have the chance. The time is now.'

Tasha gazed back up at her. 'Carpe Diem, right?'

Jenna giggled. 'You know, when I was little, I used to think that meant "fish of the day"?'

'No kidding.'

There was another pause.

'Anyway,' Jenna added, 'I think I've said enough now, right? Anyone would think my new post was Ship's Counsellor.'

'You're gonna make a wonderful Chief of Security,' Tasha told her with a small smile. 'You're bossy as all Hell.'

Jenna returned her smile. 'I'm going to get back to my leaving party. See if Lester's left me any of that vodka.'

'I wouldn't count on it,' Tasha called.

'Fish of the day,' retorted Jenna as she moved back into the mass of revellers, 'remember that, Sir.'

'Yeah,' Tasha told her drink. 'Fish of the day.'

-x-

_Fish of the day…_

Data faded a little from her view.

_Fish of the day…_

She'd thought about D'Sora's advice long and hard, but they'd all been so busy, she hadn't come to a conclusion about whether to actually take it… until that very moment. She stared at the android, pale and translucent as a ghost, as he shifted further out of phase with the rest of them, growing ever more transparent. How silly to make the decision that she wanted to attempt a monogamous relationship with somebody just as they slipped into nothingness, she thought… and how very typical of her.

Data was now completely vanished. All that remained of him was a tinny, placid voice over the Communicators, calmly describing his bizarre new surroundings. She suddenly, desperately wanted to talk to him – probably, she conceded, because it was now impossible for her to do so. She wanted to tell him to come back; that he should never have left the protection of the Enterprise in the first place, that she was concerned that something was about to happen which would suck him backwards through time, leaving nothing behind but a lifeless, 500 year old dismembered head. She inwardly shook herself as his disembodied voice continued its observations. Causality didn't work that way. Just because you'd recently discovered an artefact whose presence could only be explained by the owner of said artefact falling through time didn't necessarily mean that the event in question was imminent. Data's head had been lying around underneath San Francisco all of their lives – the only thing that had changed was that it had now been dug up. Look at Sela, she reminded herself; she'd been around in Tasha's universe almost as long as Tasha had, and by the time she'd found out about her, the time rift that had caused her presence had already been and gone, and passed Tasha by. Maybe the same sort of thing would happen to Data now. Maybe his realities were all knotted up too, and it was a different Data whose head they'd found.

Still, she worried. Still, she chewed her lip silently and willed him to fade back safely into view. As Data continued to speak out into the tense silence, she found herself doing a very strange thing. She actually found herself praying. Never having been one for organised religions, she wasn't particularly sure at first to whom she was directing her prayer. A few images flashed up in her mind – The Madonna, Vishnu, Athena and a couple of Klingon Gods that she could never remember the names of, much to Worf's annoyance, all popped into her mind and were quickly rejected. It was only as she started concentrating on what she wanted to ask of this unknown deity that she realised with whom she sought to strike a deal.

_I don't know who you are_, she announced, internally, _but something or someone tinkered with my timeline a few years ago. Something saved me from death, and let me stay in the place where I was happy. If it was you, and you're listening… I'm not sure that I ever thanked you for that. I don't know what it was that made me worth saving… if, that is, I was saved on purpose. _She blinked, aware that she was rambling, albeit silently. _Thing is_, she continued, _he __**is**__ worth saving. He's special. And I'm asking you now; if you were able to make a special case for me, can't you make one for him as well? I don't want to lose him. Bring him back…?_ She paused. According to Data's distant sounding communications, something odd was afoot. Strange creatures were approaching him. This did not sound good. _I'll throw in a sweetener,_ she added, with growing desperation. _You bring him back, and I'll do it. I promise I will. I'll put an end to our silly little dance and give in to monogamy with him. Dates, kissing in public, boring evenings in his quarters getting beaten at chess - the whole deal. Because, you see, I may not be able to vouch for you personally, but I've only ever met one omnipotent immortal before, and he had a __**sadistic**__ sense of humour. If you're anything like that, you're gonna watch from on high as I open myself up to becoming emotionally dependant on a man who can't love me, and has the most basic of understandings of human relationships; and you're going to just love watching me squirm…_

A sudden burst of bright light flooded the cavern, and disappeared as swiftly as it had come. Deanna, her expression alive with panic, called out Data's name. No voice came over the Communicator.

_No…_

'Can we get him back?' It was only after that the question had been asked that Tasha realised it was she who had posed it.

Deanna shook her head, sadly. 'He's gone.'

'He's dead…?' asked Geordi.

'He's just… gone,' repeated Deanna.

'You don't know that for sure,' Tasha added, 'I mean, you've never been able to sense him, right?'

'Not as such,' the Betazoid admitted, 'but I can still tell that he's…'

'That he's gone,' Tasha concluded, testily. 'OK. I get it, Deanna. He's gone.' She kicked at a loose stone, violently. 'Shit!'

'That's enough, Commander,' warned Riker.

She clasped her hands over her head, biting down her fury and frustration. 'Sorry, Sir. I'm sorry, Deanna.'

Riker laid a calming hand on her shoulder. 'It's OK. You're not the only one who feels like kicking rocks right now.'

Geordi, still shell-shocked, raised a hand. 'I could kick a rock or two. Won't bring him back, though.'

'So, what?' Tasha asked. 'We just give up on him?'

'Not necessarily,' Geordi replied, quietly. 'But there's nothing we can do down here.'

'What _can_ we do?' asked Riker.

Geordi shook his head, sadly. 'Beam back to the Enterprise. Back to the drawing board.'

Tasha didn't reply. She had one last bit of praying to do.

_Well, thank you very much,_ she told the faceless deity silently. _Thanks a lot for nothing_.


	27. Chapter 27

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Two

-x-

Perhaps destiny was never as it seemed, Tasha mused in retrospect - not for anybody. Data had appeared to be lost to them for good – the living, lovely soul lost in the mists of time and the body of the artificial man reduced to a skull; a dead lump of machinery. But then came hope. There was a chance that they too could phase out of synch with their known universe, see what he had seen, and possibly even follow where he had gone. Worf had mentioned that there was always the chance that they too had been in Earth's past along with Data, and died alongside him, only for their bodies to rot to nothing over time. Tasha was in no doubt that the Klingon's words could have been misconstrued as a grim, pessimistic warning, but she actually found great comfort in the suggestion, and assumed that this had been her friend's intent. She had, of course, cheerfully volunteered herself for the mission, but had been surprised at quite how many of Data's friends wished to join the away team as well. Jean Luc Picard had been the biggest surprise, she'd had to admit. The only conspicuously absent senior crewmember ended up being Worf. He had begrudgingly returned to the ship on the orders of his Captain, who had made the snap decision to remove him from the away team with all the calm confidence of somebody who had recently been explicitly told that wherever it was they were going, it would not be wise to take a Klingon along for the ride.

And what a ride.

The doorway to the unknown past had opened up, and they had stepped through…

-x-

…and found themselves flat out on the ground.

Tasha picked herself up. The others too were righting themselves. They seem to have ended up in an alley somewhere, and their arrival had thankfully passed unwitnessed. Without exchanging a word, she and Riker crept forwards to the end of the alley and peered out. Beyond was a bustling cobbled street, filled with men riding horse drawn coaches and women strolling in long, impractical dresses. The pair slunk back into the alley.

'It's the 19th Century all right,' Riker declared.

Picard nodded and looked down at his uniform. 'We aren't exactly going to blend in, are we?'

'And it's doubtful we'll get food, drink and a roof over our heads without any legal tender to exchange,' added Crusher, 'let alone more suitable clothes.'

'So the first thing we need is money,' Tasha confirmed. She set her shoulders. 'OK. You guys stay here. I'll be back in a couple of minutes.'

Picard stopped her before she could step towards the alley's opening. 'Where are you going?'

'Sir,' she sighed, 'we're lost, penniless and homeless in a world that isn't gonna give us something for nothing. It's kinda my area of expertise. Just give me five minutes, and I'll get us the funds we need to at least disguise ourselves.'

'And where are you going to get these funds from, Commander?'

'Only from people who can obviously afford to lose a little loose change,' she assured him.

Picard set his face, sternly. 'We are not about to descend to the level of pickpockets, Commander Yar.'

'Sir, in this sort of situation, sometimes lightening the pockets of the rich is the best possible option.' She paused. 'If we have no material goods to exchange… what are our choices? Have Deanna, Beverly, Will and me walk the streets?'

'Me?' Riker asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

Tasha shrugged, glad of something to lighten the tone a little. 'Tall, handsome young man… find the right part of the dockyard for you to work, you'd bring in more money than the rest of us.'

Riker nodded to himself with a proud smile. 'Huh.'

Deanna Troi gave him a sideways glance. 'It troubles me that you actually take that as a compliment.'

'And then there's always begging,' Tasha continued, 'we could send Geordi out without his Visor, with a cap in his hand singing "Nobody Knows The Trouble I Seen".'

Geordi gazed at her, deadpan. 'I'd sooner work the docks.'

'And then, there's pick pocketing,' Tasha concluded. 'It's quick, it's convenient, it's just to get us started…'

'It's immoral,' concluded the Captain. 'Now, I'm sure that our Comms badges and pips will be worth something here, certainly enough to commence with – besides that, we shall just have to rely on our powers of persuasion. I have no doubt that we may have to twist a few truths, but it's unnecessary to take anything from anybody without their expressed consent…'

'As commendable as that is in theory,' she argued, 'from my experiences in practice…'

'Commander,' retorted Picard, 'this is not Turkana City.'

'And it's not a Holodeck simulation, either,' she exploded. 'We can't just mosey around hoping that something's gonna pop up to make everything OK again. We're lost, _he's_ lost, and if we don't find him quickly, he's going to be killed…' she stopped herself abruptly as the gravity of who she was venting at sunk in. There was a second of heavy silence as the group stared at her.

Instead of creasing into fury as she'd imagined, however, the Captain's expression had actually softened.

'We are all very anxious to locate Mr Data, Commander,' Picard replied, 'hence our presence here. And I believe that this should be achieved much faster if we all work with one another, rather than at odds. Don't you agree?'

Tasha cast her eyes down. 'Sir…'

'I have to know that you trust me, Tasha.'

She looked back up at the Captain. 'Always.'

Picard's face split into a grin. 'Good. Because I just saw a group of Nuns walking past the alley.' He turned to address the group in general. 'Anybody here a Catholic?'

He was met with a chorus of 'no's.

'Well, congratulations,' added Picard. 'You are now.'

-x-

The Sisters of St Winifred's _had_ been monumentally helpful, Tasha reminded herself as she tripped and stumbled and heaved up the stairs. If it hadn't been for them and their charity, they would all still be wandering the streets of the city, unfed, inappropriately dressed and without lodgings as dusk drew in. They largely had Dr Crusher's whimsical imagination to thank for their improvised back-story – for none of their group was of ill repute, you see, despite their dress and the fact that they were of mixed race and gender, and all unmarried. No - they were, apparently, travelling actors, thrown out of their very dressing rooms in nothing but their undergarments (the shame of it) by a devious, Anti-Papist theatre manager on discovery of their shared faith. Beverly had actually managed to burst into real tears on cue. Tasha made a mental note that she really would have to make the effort to attend one of the Doctor's amateur dramatics productions in the future. After that tall tale, the Sisters had been so thoroughly helpful that Tasha would never have so much as considered complaining. They had all been fitted in suitable donated attire, been given a hot, simple meal, and cheap lodgings had been found for them with a landlady who was happy for them to pay their rent in arrears. It was only now that she was assisting a Visorless Geordi in climbing the four flights of narrow stairs to their room in the half-light of evening that she realised how much she really, completely, utterly despised her dress. It was heavy – much too heavy and hot for such hazy, South Californian summer weather. The corset restricted her movement, even her breathing, and the many layers of petticoats trailed on the ground, causing her to trip if she attempted anything faster than a gentle amble. It had obviously been in storage for some time prior to her being dressed in it – it was dusty, faded, moth-eaten in parts and smelled very strange indeed. And to cap it all, it was pink. So far, the 19th Century wasn't exactly shaping up to be a whole lot of fun.

The Irish American landlady stopped at the top landing and fumbled with a set of keys.

'Only got the one room,' she barked. 'Normally I wouldn't let it to unmarried men and unescorted women together, but the Sisters have vouched for yer, so I'll make an exception on your part.' She located the necessary key and unlocked the door. 'First hint I get of Funny Business, mind, and you'll be out on your ears. I've got a reputation to keep.'

'You have our eternal gratitude, Mrs Carmichael,' Picard assured her as the group filed into the room.

Mrs Carmichael grunted. 'Rent's due Wednesday.' She nodded at Geordi as Tasha guided him through. 'This yer Boy? Suppose a blind one's all your type can afford.'

'Actually,' Picard replied, 'he's our Puck'.

Mrs Carmichael stared at him, blankly.

'He's an actor,' Crusher clarified, 'same as the rest of us.'

Mrs Carmichael's face creased in distaste. 'Not a servant?'

'No,' Geordi replied, finding a chair.

The landlady grunted again. 'I'll be supposing you're connected to that other one, then.'

'What "other one"?'

'The other well-to-do Negro,' replied Mrs Carmichael, bitterly. 'In the paper.'

'Well,' Geordi shrugged, 'we do come in pairs.'

Mrs Carmichael turned to leave, with a tut and a shake of her head. 'Shameful, if you ask me,' she clucked, 'lording it around like the big I Am…'

Geordi waited until the landlady had slammed the door behind him before sighing deeply and reaching for his Visor.

'Well,' Riker beamed, 'Geordi's made a friend already.'

'Oh yeah, she's a sweetheart all right…' Geordi fitted his Visor over his eyes and surveyed their new lodgings. 'Oh. Isn't this… _cosy_.'

'Cosy' wasn't the term that Tasha would have used. Words like 'cramped' and 'claustrophobic' came sooner to mind. A couple or a small family might have just about been comfortable in the room, provided they didn't stay in it for long stretches at a time. She wasn't entirely sure how six adults were going to get by sleeping in there in such hot, sticky weather. She was suddenly extremely glad that Worf hadn't come along after all. As fond as she was of the Klingon, he certainly took up a lot of room for just one person.

'I think it's quaint,' Troi replied, perching herself happily on a stool as though she'd been wearing whalebone corsets and five floor-length petticoats all her life. 'We'll just have to improvise when it comes to sleeping arrangements.'

'Certainly,' added Picard, making a mental stock-take of the supplies at hand. 'I'm sure that the bed is large enough for more than just the one of us; there's a day-bed and enough cushioning on the chairs for a couple of makeshift camp beds on the floor… ah-ha!' He located a small wood stove in a cranny of the tiny apartment. 'That's more like it.' He rummaged in a nearby cupboard until he found a large copper kettle. 'I'll put the kettle on.'

'You'll have to go all the way downstairs to get the water, Sir,' Riker warned as he lit the stove.

'Will, I haven't had a cup of tea all day,' replied Picard, lugging the kettle towards the door. 'You don't want to know the lengths I'm willing to go to for one right now.'

'Well,' added Crusher as Picard left, 'I guess that's enough settling in for me. I'd better go to work.'

The others exchanged glances. 'Work?'

'Once I told those Nuns I had a background in medicine, they started telling me all about this terrible Cholera epidemic in the city at the moment.'

'Cholera?'

Crusher nodded. 'I don't know what it was, but something about it seemed fishy to me. The Captain had similar suspicions.'

'You think it might be the Devidians?' asked Tasha.

'Could be,' shrugged Crusher. 'Even if it turns out to be a red herring, well at least I can help people. After everything the Sisters did for us, it was the least I could do to volunteer my services at the Infirmary they run. They'll be paying me a small wage, too… not much, but at least enough to feed the six of us for a while.'

'I thought doctors earned good wages back in the old days,' hazarded Geordi.

'Most of them,' smiled Beverly, 'yes. But I can only get work as a nurse. Apparently in the 19th Century it was impossible to use a stethoscope if one wasn't in possession of a penis.'

The door reopened just as Beverly uttered the word 'penis' and a rather weary and bemused Jean Luc Picard staggered through, laden with a full kettle.

'What _are_ you talking about?'

'Inequalities in the workplace,' explained the Doctor, heading towards the door. 'I'd stay for tea, Jean Luc, but I'm afraid I have to go and spend the best part of the night mopping up the blood, urine, vomit and diarrhoea of unwashed, infectious strangers.' She shot them a bright smile. 'Weren't the Olden Days just wonderful? Night!'

'You know,' recalled Tasha once Dr Crusher had left, 'I noticed the police station was having a recruitment drive as well.'

'It'd be pretty handy for finding Data and the Devidians if one of us was able to work as a Cop,' Geordi added.

Tasha nodded and got to her feet. 'No time like the present. I'll go and talk with them now.'

'Um.' Deanna exchanged glances with Riker. 'I'm afraid that Policeman is probably going to be another of those "no penis, no entry" jobs.'

Tasha deflated. 'You're kidding.'

'Sorry,' Deanna consoled.

'Hey,' announced Riker, cheerfully. '_I_ have a penis! I can enrol instead. I might not be as good a cop as you'd be, Tasha, but it really would be handy for one of us to have Police access.'

Tasha sighed, despondently. 'You're fit, you're strong, you're smart… they'd take you on like a shot.'

'First he hypothetically out-earns us down the docks,' added Deanna with a mocking smile, 'now this.'

'Yeah,' piped Tasha, still a little irked, 'what is this; Hooray For Will's Penis Day?'

'Ladies, please.' Riker grinned. '_Every_ day is Hooray For Will's Penis Day.'

'Could everybody stop repeatedly saying the word "penis", please?' added Picard from the stove. 'Some of us are trying to make a nice cup of tea.'

-x-

So the good Doctor had been right about the Cholera epidemic after all. They could, however, have handled that situation a bit better, Tasha resolved as she attempted to sprint from the Infirmary and the pursuing policemen within. She tugged and struggled with her dress as they bustled out of the door. Physically fit though she was, the corset had caused her to become short of breath already, and the skirts were constantly making her trip. It would be impossible to outrun the Police, simply impossible…

And then, racing around a corner with a horse drawn cab, as though springing to their aid from out of nowhere… it was _him_. Still very much alive, still in one piece, his face set in concentration as he struggled a little with the horses' reins. It was Data.

Her heart leaped. She could honestly say that she had never been so pleased to see him before in all of her life. It was she who called his name first. He turned his head and met eyes with her. If he was indeed surprised to see her, he made no show of it, but pulled up the cab so that they could hop inside.

'Are we ever glad to see you,' greeted Riker as he pulled himself into the cab.

Tasha made the decision to ride shotgun, and lifted herself next to Data on the driver's seat. 'How come the Sergeant didn't recognise you?' she called to Riker over her back as the others loaded in.

'Oh,' Riker called to her, 'they didn't like me when I tried to enrol. Said I was too cocky. Can you believe that?'

'Yes,' replied several of the cab's passengers in unison.'

'So,' Riker continued as Data slapped the reins for the horses to canter off, 'before I left the station I must have taken a wrong turn and found myself in the supply room. I may or may not have borrowed a uniform… my memory's a little hazy there. Anyway. How're you doing, Data?'

'I am faring adequately,' replied the android, 'although at present I am having some difficulty with equine control…'

'Here.' Tasha took the reins. 'You're going too heavy with your left hand again, why do you always do that?'

Data looked down at his hands. 'I was not aware that I did.'

'Well anyway,' Tasha chided him, gently, 'horses aren't warp engines. They need a different kind of coaxing to get them to do what you need them to do.' She shot him a sideways glance and grinned. 'Hi.'

'Hi,' aped he.

'I missed you.'

'I also felt your absence keenly.' He paused. 'Why are you here?'

'To rescue you.'

Data frowned. ' It would appear that it was I who rescued you, on this particular occasion.' He paused again, casting an eye over her clothes. 'You are wearing a dress.'

'Yes, Data.'

'It is… pink.'

'Yes, Data. I know.' She dared another glance in his direction and smiled. 'Nice britches, by the way.'

Data looked briefly down at his own trousers, and then nodded at her, politely. 'Thank you.'

-x-

She and Data took up the rear as the reunited Septet climbed the narrow stairs of Mrs Carmichael's boarding house.

'I was hoping to encounter the Devidians at the Infirmary,' Data explained.

'I'm afraid we beat you to it,' Tasha admitted, 'and scared them off. There goes our lead, right?'

'Not necessarily,' Data added. 'I have hypothesised that the focus of the Devidian's temporal manipulations may well be centred at the cavern in which my remains were found. I have been attempting to gain access to the mining works which can be used as an entrance to the location for some time now, and believe that I may be close to success in that matter…'

Tasha grabbed his arm. 'But you're not going down there, right?'

'Of course. The Devidians are taking innocent lives and possibly damaging causality itself by affecting the past. They must be stopped.'

'Then,' Tasha reasoned, 'let _us _stop them, without your help.'

'It may well be unsafe for you.'

'Well, we know damn well that it's unsafe for _you_. You can't just calmly go down there to the place you're doomed to die…'

'"Doom" is merely another term for "destiny",' Data replied, 'which is something that one cannot avoid.'

'Yes you can,' Tasha argued. 'Of course you can. Destiny's not a constant, Data. It isn't written in stone…'

'There is a severed head on the Enterprise which suggests otherwise.'

'Look.' Tasha stopped climbing for a moment and squeezed her eyes shut, forcing down the pride that was trying to stop her saying what she felt she had to say next. 'I don't know what I'd do if you died, OK? I… need you.'

She opened her eyes again. Data was staring back at her with that same frustrating, faintly sad blankness as ever.

'I believe that to be an untruth, Tasha. I consider you to be a particularly resilient individual. You do not "need" me. You do not "need" anybody.'


	28. Chapter 28

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Baby Got Your Head Screwed On

-x-

Three

-x-

No, there was no persuading the android to stay behind in the relative safety above ground. Tasha hadn't been present when the leader of the 24th Century excavation had shown Picard and Data his macabre find, but still she felt a pervading sense of dread – a horrible deja vu, almost - as the rickety mineshaft elevator plunged them deeper and deeper below the Earth. The faces of her companions echoed her own grim concern as they were picked out in the flickering half-light of the safety lamps. The only ones who seemed unperturbed were Data himself and Guinan, who was, of course, perceiving events in the opposite order to the rest of them. At least, Tasha attempted to console herself, she had been correct about the Enterprise's Barkeep – she _had_ known something about this whole unhappy affair.

The elevator ground to a halt and they stepped out, following the android's lead towards the nearby cavern.

It had all happened so fast. How Clemens had tailed them was beyond her, but there he had been. The aged author had carried nothing more than an old pistol – it wouldn't have made so much as a dent in Data, but he had stepped back with the rest of them, probably concerned that, should he make a sudden move, Clemens might fire at somebody who could be hurt by his bullets. And then had come the Devidians. There had been a fight, and then… and then time and space had opened up. It had opened up _through_ Data, ripping the android's body in two as it did so, not to mention hurling Guinan hard against a wall. Picard had rushed to Guinan's aid, ordering the rest of them to pursue the one escaping Devidian through the hole into the 24th Century. It was as she'd returned to her own time that she'd spotted Data's remains, stiff and lifeless, but whole - save for the scorched, jagged stump of a neck where his head had once been. It was just as Geordi had knelt down; obviously considering the same thing that she was – that there might be the faintest hope of connecting the 500 year old head to the freshly decapitated body – that another person had thrown themselves through the tear in time, just as it had re-sealed itself. She remembered looking up, hoping that her Captain had been sufficiently satisfied that the 19th Century Guinan would be all right and had used his last chance to return to the present with the rest of the crew. But it had not been Jean Luc Picard. It had been Clemens. One of her favourite people in the universe was dead – another was trapped in the past – and here was Mark Twain, using her Captain's only escape route as a sight seeing opportunity. Needless to say, she was unhappy at the least.

-x-

'Can you fix him?'

'I keep telling you. I don't know.'

'Yes, but _theoretically_. Can you fix him?'

'Well, that depends.'

'Depends on what?'

'On whether or not I'm allowed to concentrate on the task in hand.' Geordi turned and gave Tasha a tight, sympathetic smile. 'I know you're worried. We're all worried. But right now…? You're not helping. Sorry, Tasha.'

Tasha had just retreated to the door of the Cybernetics Lab when an unwelcome face popped around the corner.

'Pardon the intrusion, Madam. But I was anxious to see whether any progress had been made with Mr Data, and whether I might be able to assist in some manner…'

'I think you've done quite enough, Mr Clemens,' Tasha replied, curtly. 'Commander LaForge has insisted that he be left to concentrate in peace.'

Clemens nodded grimly. 'I see.'

Tasha tilted her head at the author. 'What are you doing walking round the ship without an escort, anyway?'

Clemens laughed a little, self consciously, and pulled an expression of innocence. 'If you believe I am not to be trusted…'

Tasha glowered. 'If it were up to me, you'd have been thrown in the brig the second you came on board.'

'For what crime?' Clemens asked, his eyebrows raised in his continued charade of blamelessness.

'You turned a gun on innocent people who were only trying to protect your period of history. You stole our Captain's window of escape so that you could be indulged in some futuristic pleasure cruise, and if it wasn't for you, Data might still be in one piece.' She turned to storm down the corridor, away from him, but Clemens followed, hot on her heels.

'Now, that's more like it,' he crowed. 'What with your infinitely patient and sympathetic Counsellor Troi, and your calm, collected lady Doctor, I was beginning to fear that the future had bred out all the fire in womankind; that admirable, formidable fury of the outraged female…'

'I'm not in the mood to be patronised,' Tasha seethed. 'Your books may hold sway with some of the others on this ship, but I am not an avid reader of fiction. My reverence for you is zero, and I refuse to treat you as anything more than what I see of you now; an interfering, self-interested old man.'

Clemens laughed again. 'Allow me to pose a question, Madam. Since I have been aboard your vessel, I have heard many people talking about what became of Mr Data as though it were destiny fulfilling itself. It appears, in fact, that everybody, including Mr Data and yourself, was aware that he was due to be decapitated in my era before any of you so much as met me. Therefore, wasn't my part in the events that followed merely a part of the same self-determination? If that is so, I cannot possibly be to blame for Mr Data's current unfortunate situation, surely…?'

'You had free will, Clemens. And I have the free will to blame whoever I want to blame…'

'Ah-ha.' Clemens nodded, sagely. 'Protective rage that cannot be hindered by reason. Now I understand. It appears, my good woman, that I owe a personal apology to you.'

'To me? Why?'

Clemens shook his head. 'I didn't realise. I allowed myself to assume that, due to Mr Data's mechanical nature, he would be a eunuch. I never imagined that he might have a wife to fret over his wellbeing.'

Tasha scoffed. 'We're not married! We're not even a couple…'

'But you are enamoured with him, aren't you?'

Tasha stopped walking and frowned down at her feet. 'I…'

Clemens patted her shoulder, gently. 'I may be a self-interested old man, but I understand a thing or two about falling in love. Why be so bashful about it? He's a fine fellow.'

'Because I'm afraid,' Tasha muttered.

'You're afraid that he won't live?'

'Afraid that he _will_,' Tasha replied, 'and what might happen after that.'

'Being…?'

Tasha began to walk again - slower, this time. 'I was hurt, when I was young. A lot. So I closed myself off. And somehow, this man has been able to open me up again… only, he's the one man who can never be opened himself.' She shook her head. 'I'm sorry. I'm not making much sense.'

'You're making perfect sense, my dear. You are suffering from fear of the unknown. As was I, before I came aboard this vessel of yours. I envisioned the future to be a dark and dangerous place. But I took the chance, I leaped in, and witnessed the marvel.' Clemens beamed. 'And I am glad that I have.'

Tasha laughed a little. 'You know what's weird?'

'Go on.'

'I'm having a conversation with Mark Twain about my love life, which, at the moment consists of a dead machine with a painstakingly reattached head which has been underground for half a millennium… and none of that feels weird. Which is, in itself, weird. Wouldn't you say?'

'So,' concluded Clemens from her odd monologue, 'you _do_ love him.'

She led him into a waiting Turbolift. 'What does it matter to you?'

'I'm very interfering,' Clemens shrugged. 'You noted so yourself.' He paused. 'Where, by the way, are we headed?'

'You been to Ten Forward yet?' Tasha asked.

'Ten… forward…' struggled Clemens.

'It's a bar.'

Clemens grinned. 'Well, I should certainly like to shake the hand of the fellow who ensured that social drinking remained in this futuristic shrine to virtuous abstinence.'

'Oh, you owe Guinan much more than a handshake.'

'Miss Guinan?' Clemens gaped. 'But… I left her in the 19th Century. How can she be here, now?'

'She came here the long way,' Tasha explained as the Turbolift doors opened again. 'Much like the top ten percent of Data did.'

'Ah.' Clemens nodded. 'Then it will seem that I also owe her my heartfelt apologies.'

'I'd say so.'

Tasha was about to step out after Clemens when Worf's voice called to her from her Comms badge.

'Commander Yar. You're required on the Bridge.'

Tasha sighed. 'Guess that's it, then. Sorry, Mr Clemens. You'll have to face Guinan without me.'

'Why does the severity of that man's tone send a shiver down my spine?' Clemens asked. 'Why is it that you're needed on your Bridge, Miss Yar? What are you about to do?'

'The Devidians have to be stopped,' Yar explained. 'We're going to destroy their means of time travel.'

'But that would trap your Captain in the past forever,' Clemens reasoned.

'Not to mention, keeping you here,' Tasha added. She paused, briefly. 'Do _you_ have a wife to fret over your wellbeing, Mr Clemens?'

Clemens nodded, sadly. 'And some fine children.'

'I'm sorry.' The Turbolift doors closed between Tasha and Clemens, and, heavy hearted, she began the ride up to the Bridge.

It was just as the lift approached her destination that another voice came over her Communicator – that of Geordi LaForge this time. The Engineer hurriedly told Riker to hold fire with the torpedoes before cutting off the transmission.

Tasha stopped the elavator instinctively. Geordi, tucked away in the Cybernetics Lab, suddenly knew of a change of plan. That could only mean one thing. She ordered the Turbolift into reverse, whizzing back down towards the Cybernetics Lab's deck.

She was prepared to run to the lab as soon as the Turbolift doors opened, but there turned out to be no need. The doors slid open to reveal Geordi, already waiting, and at his side, with no physical sign of the trauma which had been inflicted on his body, bar a slight scorching to his starched, cotton shirt collar, was Data.

Tasha wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry, so she did neither.

'Commander Yar,' nodded Data politely as the two friends stepped into the Turbolift. 'Are you also travelling towards the Bridge?'

Yar nodded, mutely. She swallowed hard and collected herself as the Turbolift began to ascend towards the Bridge once more.

'Still sporting the britches, I see,' she said in as light a tone as she could muster.

'I shall endeavour to change into uniform as soon as the opportunity presents itself,' Data explained. 'I believe I must make returning the Captain to the correct period in time before the Devidians are able to do any more damage my immediate priority, however.'

Tasha shared a smile with Geordi. 'Good as new, huh?'

'Yeah,' Geordi replied, 'but you sure gave us a scare for a while there, Data.'

Data stared at them, blankly. 'I apologise for any distress my beheading might have caused.'

Tasha continued to address Geordi. 'You hugged him yet?'

'I gave his shoulder a little squeeze while we were waiting for the Turbolift,' Geordi admitted.

'Do you mind if I…?'

'Be my guest.'

Tasha pressed herself against the silk of Data's waistcoat and breathed a long, deep sigh of relief. The android gave her back a light, arrhythmic pat of reciprocation.

'Don't you ever,' she ordered him, '_ever_ get yourself blown up again, OK?'

'I shall endeavour not to,' Data replied, softly.

She looked up at him, still not breaking out of the hug. 'Data?'

'Yes, Tasha.'

'You have a cobweb up your nose.'

-x-

'Oh, for the love of…'

'Is there anything the matter…?'

'It's still there!'

'What is still there?'

'The cobweb.'

'Oh,' replied Data. 'I thought that I had successfully dislodged it.'

'Well, clearly not all of it,' Tasha replied. 'Don't you ever blow your nose?'

Data frowned. 'I do not.'

Tasha located a handkerchief and passed it to him. 'Well, give it a shot.'

She settled, crossed legged, on her bed and watched with a fond smile as the android gave his nose a couple of experimental blows.

'Fish of the day,' she muttered to herself. 'Fish of the day.'

Data turned to look at her. 'I beg your pardon?'

Tasha shook her head with a small laugh. 'Sorry. We've all been so busy lately, what with people getting stuck in the wrong century, and causality issues and so forth, I lost track of what I meant to say to you before all of this began.'

'Those problems have now been rectified, however,' Data reminded her. 'All that were involved in the Devidian's temporal portal have now been returned to their correct era, and the mystery of my decapitated head has been resolved with no ill effect to myself… cranial cobwebs notwithstanding. I am curious. Why did you wish to speak with me on the matter of fish?'

'I didn't,' replied Tasha, looking down. 'Data, would you mind sitting with me?'

'Not at all.'

'When we were all on Devidia II,' Tasha began, once the android was seated, 'before you were sucked into the 19th Century, I made a deal with somebody.'

'With whom?'

'Honestly,' Tasha admitted, 'I don't know. If it was anybody at all, it must have been an omnipotent being of sorts.'

Data frowned. 'Not Q…?'

'No. I don't think so, at least. I'm pretty sure if he'd been listening in, he'd have turned up by now, wanting to take all the credit. I just… I've had the feeling for a while now that I've been given a special dispensation from a horrible fate.'

'Because of Sela?' Data added.

Tasha nodded. 'And I asked whoever had made a special case for me to award the same protection to you.'

'That was very kind of you,' Data replied, 'although probably impractical.'

'I don't know,' Tasha shrugged. 'I mean, here you are. I promised whoever it was that there was something I'd do in return for bringing you back safely.'

'Counsellor Troi often says that bargaining is an element of the grieving process,' Data added. 'Is it not more likely that you had convinced yourself of my imminent destruction and already commenced in grieving my demise? If I was indeed always destined to be successfully reactivated and receive the Captain's message, then surely your private thoughts at the time of my disappearance are immaterial. It is highly unlikely that you do owe any debt for my return.'

'Oh,' Tasha replied, 'I owe a debt, all right. If not to some faceless deity, then I certainly owe one to you.'

'I do not understand.'

'Everything that's passed between us over the last six years,' Tasha continued, 'and I was just going to let it slip away without giving it the acknowledgement it deserved. And why? Because of my fear of the unknown. My fear of a hypothetical failure. My fear of you and me not living up to expectations, when I don't even really know what those expectations even are.'

'I am experiencing a great deal of difficulty deciphering your meaning,' Data frowned.

'You remember the offer you made me when you were walking with me after the O'Briens' wedding?'

'I suggested an experimental monogamous relationship,' Data replied, 'however, I must remind you that my subsequent experiment of that nature with Jenna was a failure.'

'So you're never going to try it again?'

'I have analysed my courtship with Jenna, and believe that I have isolated many mistakes made on my part during the process, which may well be contributing factors towards her decision to terminate the relationship. I shall learn from these errors and, should I attempt a similar relationship with another partner in the future, I shall seek to use the experience to create a better functioning courtship.' Data cocked his head a little, contemplating this imaginary scenario. 'I am aware that that relationship may also end in failure. However, I am not adverse to a second attempt.'

'A real pioneer spirit,' Tasha nodded. 'Commendable.'

'Thank you.' Data paused. 'I still do not understand what this has to do with a debt.'

'What I promised that whatever-it-was,' attempted Tasha, 'what I promised myself… I…' She pressed the palms of her hands together, nervously. 'I want to take you up on that offer. Assuming it's still open.'

'Of course,' Data replied, with a hint of surprise. 'But you told me…'

'I tell a lot of people a lot of things,' said Tasha, 'and I can't pretend that I'm always honest; least of all with myself.' She took in a deep, shaky breath. 'I remember one thing I told you that was completely true, though. Years and years ago, now. I told you that I wanted gentleness, and sweetness, and I wanted them from you…'

'Tasha?'

'And I…' her voice broke off.

Data rubbed the cobweb from the handkerchief that he was still holding, and offered it to Tasha. 'You are crying.'

'I know.' Tasha refused the handkerchief and pushed the errant tears back with the sides of her hands. 'I'm sorry.'

'You have no need to apologise. Are you feeling unwell?'

She shook her head with a smile. 'Never better.'

'So…' concluded Data, gingerly, 'we are now in a formal sexual relationship?'

'I think we are.'

There was a momentary pause.

'What shall we do now?' Data asked. 'We could partake in a social activity together, or we could kiss… we could copulate…'

'Not tonight, Data. Tonight, could we just…' she trailed off into silence. For some reason, she didn't want to ask out loud simply to be held. Instead, she shuffled closer to him, so that their thighs and hips were touching, took his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. He said nothing, but took her other hand and sat like that, quiet and still, until she was asleep.

And when she awoke the next morning, he was still there.

-x-

_A.N. - I don't usually do this, but since I just passed the 100 review mark I wanted to thank all of you who've given me feedback on this story so far - whether it be reviews here, or on my LJ, or just favouriting the yarn. I know there are writers out there on the big bad intertubes who eat three-figure review numbers for breakfast, but for somebody used to smaller fandoms like me it's a really big deal and I really am so grateful. I always write, and I always finish my stories, whether I'm getting feedback or not, but that doesn't mean it's not very gratifying as an author to know that others appreciate my story, or indeed very helpful to hear which elements were particularly enjoyed and which I need to work on in order to improve further_

_I also owe immense thanks to Realmlife, my brilliant Beta, as well as to my very patient and indulgent husband, who has always encouraged my writing in both fanfic and original projects._

_Although we're a long way from the end yet (and I have now finally worked out how it **is** going to end!) I hope you all continue to enjoy the ride as much as I am._

_Scribbles_


	29. Chapter 29

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

The Best Intentions

-x-

One

-x-

'So, then…'

Her half-sentence was left hanging in the air as he merely stared at her, waiting for her to continue.

She cleared her throat. 'What do we do now?'

'We are both due on the Bridge in fifty-four minutes time.' Data gave her a vague smile. 'I suggest that we prepare for duty.'

She returned his smile, inwardly thanking him for not rounding their remaining free time up to the nearest second, and got up. 'Good idea. But I meant more in the long run.'

She padded over to her small bathroom and briskly stripped as her new boyfriend courteously turned his back at the door. She grinned to herself as she stepped into the sonic shower – she hadn't told him that he shouldn't look, and Heaven knew he'd seen her naked plenty of times before. Rocco would have just tried to jump in the shower along with her. She decided that it was going to be very nice dating somebody so polite – somebody who didn't just take everything for granted. Somebody without hormones.

'I am not certain how you wish this romance to evolve,' Data continued, his back still turned. 'As you are already aware, I have never been in a lengthy sexual relationship. You, however, have. I had assumed that perhaps you would be the better experienced to deal with such decisions.'

'You calling me and Rocco a Relationship, now?' Tasha asked.

'Would you not?'

'Rocco was really no less a failed experiment than Jenna was,' Tasha replied. 'I just didn't have the sense to end it when I should have done.' She got out of the shower and wrapped herself in a dressing gown. 'I think the first thing we should do is arrange a proper date.' She tapped him on the shoulder. 'You can turn around again now, by the way.'

Data turned back to face her with a polite nod.

'What about this evening?' added Tasha, replicating a much-needed coffee.

'I am to be assisting Geordi in Engineering following my day shift on the Bridge,' Data told her, 'after which, I shall be leading the night watch…'

'…right up until tomorrow's day shift,' Tasha finished for him. She took a slurp of coffee. 'And after that, I have choir practice. I'd cancel, but we're down to sing at the Zucker wedding next week, and you know how Birgit Zucker loves her Schoenberg.' She rolled her eyes. 'Impossible stuff.'

'The atonal style is often perceived as taxing to an ear more used to octatonic harmony. However…'

'What about the evening after that?' Tasha asked, anxious to cut Data off before he went into a full tangential spiel.

'Dr Crusher and Lieutenant Barclay are performing a dialogue that evening,' Data reminded her. 'We have both already confirmed that we shall be in attendance. I am due on the Bridge once more shortly after that event is due to finish.'

Tasha sighed. 'We're going to run across this problem a lot, aren't we? Half the time, I'm so busy I barely get time to turn around, and you don't even stop to rest. When are we gonna get chance to so much as see one another?'

'We often "see one another",' Data replied, puzzled. 'Are we not "seeing one another" right now?'

'I meant, as a couple.'

Data pondered this. 'Do couples not attend the theatre together? Is that not an acceptable "date"?'

Tasha tilted her head at him. 'Are you being sarcastic, Mister?'

'I was not aware that I was.'

'Hmm.'

'I was merely about to suggest,' Data added, 'that we could make a romantic event of the dramatic performance that we shall be attending.'

Tasha smiled a little. 'Sit at the back, let our hands wander, make out in the interval, that sort of thing?'

'I do not believe that that would be advisable behaviour,' Data frowned.

'It's OK,' Tasha laughed, 'I was joking.'

'Oh.'

She loosened her dressing gown tie. 'Or _was_ I…?'

'I…' Data's frown deepened. 'This is becoming a most perplexing conversation.'

Tasha leaned in and gently kissed him. 'How much longer do we have before we're on duty?'

'Forty-nine minutes.'

'Well, it won't take me nearly that long to finish off getting ready.' She kissed him again, glad to feel his reciprocating pressure on her lips. 'You got anything _you_ need to do for the next forty-nine minutes?'

She guided his hand beneath her dressing gown to her naked breasts.

Data leaned in closer so that she could reach behind him and begin unfastening his tunic. 'It is forty-_eight_ minutes, now.'

She giggled, her lips on his. 'You don't get any better at pillow talk, do you?'

'What would you like me to say?'

She never answered his question. They both made it to the Bridge with ten seconds to spare, Tasha having forgone putting on any makeup or styling her hair. It was worth it.

-x-

Beverly Crusher had long ago given up on the pretence that she found it irritating for people to come up to her and congratulate her on her latest performance before she'd had time to change out of her costume or remove her stage make-up. After all, Reg was always very honest about enjoying the praise of his audience – a proud smile beaming through his automatic blushes. To suggest that she didn't enjoy commendation when she felt it had been well earned was a lie. Besides, tonight's audience had brought with it a happy little new development of its own. It surprised Beverly how nice it looked to see either Tasha or Data holding hands like that with anybody, let alone one another. She couldn't help but shoot little smiles at the new couple while Deanna enthused at her and Worf asked for the twentieth time whether she was thinking of directing a production of Uncle Vanya any time soon, and hope that the pair would take the time to speak with her as they mingled. Not that she wanted to meddle in any way, of course. She was not a meddler. She just wanted to talk with them. And maybe ask a favour of them, but that was only because they looked so very _right_. She wasn't going to force or coerce them, just ask nicely. She was _not_ going to meddle. Data and Tasha, their hands still entwined, made their way towards her. She beamed.

'Look at you two! I doubt that I'm the first person to say "and about time, too"…?'

'You are not,' Data replied, patiently.

'We just wanted to congratulate you before we left,' added Tasha. 'Data's back on duty in a minute…'

'_Seventeen_ minutes…' corrected the android.

'So we wanted to sneak off an have a little time to ourselves,' interrupted Tasha in a conspiratorial tone.

'Oh, sure,' nodded Beverly, 'sure.' She paused. 'Only… you're both singers, aren't you?'

Tasha and Data slid a glance at one another.

'Yes,' replied Tasha, warily. 'Why?'

'Just something about seeing the pair of you together,' Crusher told them. 'You just look right.'

'Right for what?'

Beverly clasped her hands together and set her face. 'Next week I'll be holding auditions for my next big production - Little Shop of Horrors. I really think you two should consider going up for the leads.'

'"Horrors"?' echoed Data, perplexed.

'It's a late 20th Century American musical,' Crusher told him. 'Basically, just Faust in a Florist.'

'Oh,' replied Data, although from his expression she could tell that she hadn't actually shed any light on the matter as far as he was concerned.

'I'm sorry,' Tasha replied, 'I can't act.'

'You don't know that 'til you try.'

'Well, I definitely know I can't dance.'

'With a good coach, I bet you could,' Beverly persisted. 'And if that didn't work, you could just have people dance around you.'

'What is the rehearsal schedule?' Data asked.

Tasha shot the android an angry glare.

'We'd fit it around what times are best for the core cast,' Beverly reassured them.

'You're gonna do it,' Tasha hissed at Data, 'aren't you? You're gonna audition!'

'I find acting to be a most beneficial means of further understanding humanity,' Data replied. 'I generally accept any role that I am offered to perform, on the proviso that it does not interfere with my duties.'

'Data,' Tasha continued, 'we're having trouble getting any free time together as it is. If you're going to be rehearsing for a play, that's just going to swallow up what precious little we've got left.'

Beverly bit her lip. 'I'm sorry. If I'd known it would have caused this much trouble…'

Tasha didn't shift her attention from Data. 'Do you _want_ to audition for this play?'

'I have no "wants".'

'Cut the crap, Data. Would you rather go for the part or not?'

'If you also took a part in the production,' Data reasoned, 'we would have ample time together during the rehearsals.'

'It wouldn't be like it is on duty,' Beverly added, encouragingly. 'I don't have any rules against my cast members canoodling during rehearsal time. In fact, for Seymour and Audrey it's pretty much mandatory. There is at least one on-stage canoodle.'

'Fine,' Tasha sighed. 'I'll go to the stupid audition. Happy now?'

'I am incapable of being "happy".'

Tasha rolled her eyes and left. 'Don't I know it.'

Data gazed back at Beverly in confusion.

So far tonight, she reminded herself, her interference had only unwittingly robbed them of their only free time and caused Tasha to become enraged – Dr Crusher was adamant that she'd intervene with the pair no more. Unfortunately, she reached this conclusion just as her mouth, seemingly unbidden, had finished advising Data that he should go after Tasha.

She puffed out a sigh as he followed his girlfriend into the crowd.

'Well, that went well,' she told herself. 'That went very well indeed.'

-x-

The most frustrating thing about trying to dance, Tasha thought to herself… well, _one_ of the more frustrating things about trying to dance… one of the _many_ frustrating things about trying to dance was that her body would remember its natural agility the very instant she stopped attempting to move to music. Switching on music and asking her to do a few set moves to it was like clicking a magic switch that transformed her from Lieutenant Commander Natasha Yar into a hapless stumbling clown. As soon as she was no longer required to dance she turned back into herself and wondered why the muscles she had relied on to be strong and graceful all her life were so utterly incapable of performing this perfectly simple task. She pondered this – albeit briefly – as she tripped over Data's foot, twisted herself round and tumbled to the floor for the fourth time that session. As she fell, she automatically rolled herself so that she would be able to spring, unhurt, back to her feet almost instantly. How was it she could do that, but not the Cha-Cha-Cha?

She pushed back her fringe in frustration as Dr Crusher approached them.

'What'd I do wrong this time?'

Beverly shook her head blankly and shrugged. 'You fell over. Don't ask me how. These were the simplest steps I could come up with.'

'Still think all I need is a good dancing coach?' She managed a self-deprecating smile, but clearly Dr Crusher was in no mood to joke back.

The Doctor shook her head again. 'What are we going to do? We've been trying to rehearse this number for nearly an hour now and we're just not getting anywhere.' Dr Crusher clasped her hands behind her head. 'Let's call it a night for now, huh? I need to come up with some new ideas.'

Tasha nodded, relieved. 'OK, coach.'

She waited until she and Data left the Holodeck and the doors closed behind them before grinning at him and taking his hand.

'An evening off after all,' she beamed. 'I'll have to trip over your feet more often.'

Data glanced at her, levelly. 'I trust that your ungainliness these evening was not an intentional ploy to shorten the rehearsal session.'

'You don't seriously think I'd do that, do you?'

'In theory,' Data admitted, 'no. But there is much about your personality which I still find difficult to understand and impossible to predict.'

'Well,' Tasha retorted, 'it _wasn't_ on purpose. It may have escaped your attention, but I don't particularly like screwing up.'

'I am aware of that aspect of your persona.'

'And I really, really don't want to screw up this duet,' Tasha added. 'It's my favourite part of the whole play.'

'Because of the kiss at the end?'

'Well, there's that,' smiled Tasha, leaning in a little closer, 'but I think the song's very pretty. It's very… very _us_.'

'"Us"…?'

'All that "nobody ever treated me kindly" stuff in my verse,' Tasha replied. 'Doesn't that remind you of… you know… that first time, with the Tsiokolvski virus? When I was pouring my heart out to you?'

'No,' Data replied, matter-of-factly. 'Seymour is attempting to woo Audrey in the song. He offers her salvation through the relationship he proposes. I have never done any of those things with anybody, let alone you.'

'Oh,' sighed Tasha. 'Well, I think it's pretty, anyway.' She decided to change the subject. 'Still, it's nice to finally have some time to spend with you.'

'We have been in one another's company since 0700 hours this morning,' the android replied.

'With other people around,' Tasha reminded him, 'and jobs to do.' She ran a mischievous finger over his ear. 'It's been like spending the whole day in a cake shop and not even being allowed to nibble a bit of icing.'

Data nodded in understanding. 'Due to the shortened rehearsal, we now have three hours and thirty-seven minutes at our disposal before I am required again elsewhere. I take it that you wish to fornicate. Shall we retire to your quarters, or mine?'

Tasha pulled her hand away from him and folded her arms, peevishly. 'Why do you automatically assume that? Is that all you think there is to this relationship?'

'I have found that rhetorical imagery comparing an individual to a foodstuff is most likely to be an allusion to sexual congress with that person. Did I misunderstand your meaning, Tasha?'

'Well… no,' Tasha grunted. 'But I was only being playful. I didn't necessarily mean that I just wanted to jump straight into bed with you.'

'Going into bed is immaterial,' Data added, 'since thus far only 15 percent of our sexual activities have been in or on a bed of any description…'

'Yes,' Tasha replied through gritted teeth, 'I'm aware of that, Data. The rest of the ship doesn't really need to know that information as well.'

Data frowned. 'Do you then not wish to indulge in sex this evening?'

'I didn't say _that_, either.' She paused. 'What do _you_ want to do with our evening off?'

'I have no wants. I shall do whatever it is you wish to do.'

Tasha gave him a hollow smile. 'Isn't that just what every woman wants to hear?'

Data, as usual, failed to pick up on the faint sarcasm in her tone. 'Perhaps it is.'

-x-

'Well howdy, partner.'

'Howdy yerself, Ma'am.'

Tasha burst into fond hysterics at the android's response. She walked over to where he was sitting - his metal skull glimmering with flashing lights as Geordi tinkered with his positronic brain.

'You seriously can't help talking like that, can you?'

'Reckon not.'

She giggled again. 'So, what kind of cowboy are you, then? Tall, broody stranger? Clean-cut farmhand? Toothless prospector?'

'Don't tease him,' muttered Geordi. 'He's malfunctioning. Nobody comes and laughs at you when you get sick.'

'Oh, c'mon, Geordi,' Tasha smiled. 'We've all seen him malfunction worse than this. He isn't even properly possessed this time – compared to Graves and those convicts that said they were from the Essex, this is peanuts. Just a little boo-boo. I swung by to kiss him better. Isn't that what girlfriends do?'

'You came to poke fun at him.'

'Well,' twinkled Tasha, 'isn't that what girlfriends do, too?'

Geordi shook his head with a begrudging smile. 'Do what you gotta do, just don't get under my feet. It'll take more than a kiss to make him better. Trust me.' His grin widened. 'I already tried that.'

Tasha turned to Data. 'You hussy.'

'Ain't nobody been tryin' to kiss me fer the good of my health or no reason, young lady. You'd best watch whose word you'll be believin' round these parts.'

Tasha folded her arms, cynically. 'I'm pretty sure nobody ever actually spoke like that.'

'Probably not,' Geordi replied, 'this is just Reg's idea of what people spoke like in the Ancient West. At least this is the stuff he programmed into the Holodeck. He's an Engineer, not an Historian.'

Tasha smiled. 'So, how long d'you think it'll take to get him back to normal again?'

Geordi shrugged. 'Couple of hours, maybe.'

'I'll make it worth your while if you get it to take a little longer.'

Geordi frowned at her, confused.

'We should get the evening off from rehearsals if Data's still malfunctioning by the time they start,' Tasha explained.

Geordi gave her an indulgent sigh. 'I'll tell Dr Crusher he'll need the evening off to recuperate.'

'Fer the love of Betsie, I don't need no rest and recuperation time!'

'Data, I'm taking every opportunity I can to snatch back whatever time alone we can from our schedules,' Tasha replied. 'I think you having to undergo open brain surgery to stop you sounding like Calamity Jane counts as one of those possibilities.'

Data frowned up at Tasha from his seat. 'Prob'ly.'

'You're very sweet when you're malfunctioning, you know that?'

'Sweet?' Data cocked his head. 'Ain't never had no malfunction go and change my taste, Missy. Far as I know, I don't taste of nothin' at all, saving a faint aftertaste of plastic, and I only got your word on that one…'

'OK,' replied Tasha, hurriedly, 'that's not really a topic for us to share with our friends.' She shot Geordi an embarrassed smile. 'May talk like a character from a badly written Western, but he's still the same old Data, huh?'

Geordi managed to nod in reply as he bit down a fit of giggles.

Tasha sighed. 'Just let me know when he's back to his usual, stilted self, huh?'

Geordi nodded again.

She paused in the doorway and looked back at the android, calmly staring into the middle distance as the quietly giggling Chief Engineer went back to his work. It didn't faze her, she noted. Not one bit. Not the sections of missing scalp reminding her that he was a machine, not the fact that he was malfunction-prone, not his tendency to commit humiliating faux-pas. It didn't upset her or annoy her. It probably would have done, years ago now, but something had changed. What had changed? Was it him? Was it her? Maybe they'd both changed a little.

So, what was it that she _did_ feel? Fondness…? Of course. She'd always been fond of him. But, lurking at the back of her mind as she watched him was the troubling sensation that it was something else – something stronger.

There was a word that she didn't dare to use. That word only brought her misery. She had used that word with her parents, and they had been suddenly, violently taken from her. She had used it with Ishara, who had turned her back on her, and then betrayed her affection. And if she ever found herself using that word in conjunction with Data… he could never return that. Not honestly. She knew what she was getting into, she reminded herself, she always had. She wasn't going to act as though his emotional shortcomings were a surprise to her, as Jenna had apparently done. She wasn't going to screw this up. She refused to let that happen.

She was absolutely, positively not going to allow herself to fall in love with him.


	30. Chapter 30

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

The Best Intentions

-x-

Two

-x-

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Her feet pounded the running machine's conveyor track with a soothing cadence. All the sounds of the gym melted away until she was left with only two bass rhythms – that of her feet, and of her fast, regular pulse racing through her ears. She concentrated her vision on her stats on the monitor in front of her – speed, heart rate, distance covered.

Speed. Heart rate. Distance covered.

Speed. Heart rate. Distance covered.

Her mind became completely clear for the first time in some while. She focussed entirely on the mission ahead, her thoughts growing objective and calm as she ran.

Speed. Heart rate. Distance covered.

'Tasha.'

A pale, cool hand fell on her arm. She stumbled a little, and looked across at him, her eyes taking a moment to refocus on his face. The noises of the gym and the ship returned to her, as did the hundreds of whispering thoughts muddying her mind.

'Hi, Data.'

She slowed her pace slightly so that she could spare the breath for a conversation, and continued running as he addressed her.

'Were you aware that Dr Crusher has indefinitely postponed the production?'

'Little Shop?' Tasha clarified. 'Yeah, I heard about that.'

'All rehearsals have been cancelled for the foreseeable future.'

'It wasn't exactly coming together well, was it?'

'Even so,' Data replied, 'it is out of character for her to abandon a performance…'

'Well,' Tasha mumbled, 'she doesn't exactly have much of a choice. Something's come up. She's gonna be indisposed for a while.'

'I see.' Data paused. 'Since rehearsals have been cancelled, considerably clearing our social schedules, I came to ask if you would enjoy an hour on the Holodeck this evening.'

Tasha slowed further and stared at him with a mocking smile. 'Am I hearing this right? You're actually taking the initiative and arranging a date? You actually want to spend some time alone with me?'

'Not as such,' Data replied, flatly. 'However, I was under the impression that _you_ wanted us to spend more time alone together than we had been, and since you appear to have enjoyed the Holodeck in the past…'

Tasha shook her head, turning back to the monitor screen ahead of her. 'Always about what _I_ want with you, isn't it?'

'Is that a problem, Tasha?'

'I suppose not.' Tasha frowned. 'Not that it matters now, anyway. I'm afraid I'm going to be indisposed for the time being as well.'

'For the same reasons as Dr Crusher?'

'Pretty much.'

'I see.'

There was a pause as Tasha continued to run.

'You're not gonna ask why?' Tasha added, suddenly, 'or for how long? Or if it's safe?'

'I assumed that that information would be confidential,' Data replied, 'otherwise you would have already shared it with me.'

'That's not the point,' Tasha retorted. 'It'd just be nice to know you cared.'

'Very well,' conceded Data. 'Why are you indisposed? For how long? Will your safety be assured until then?'

'I can't tell you,' Tasha muttered. 'It's classified.' She cast a glance at the now utterly confused android. 'There, now. Was that so difficult?'

Data darted a bewildered gaze about himself, as though he needed somebody to translate what she was saying into something he could understand.

'Sorry,' she grunted, focussing once more on her jog. 'Ignore me.'

Data nodded, with a hint of relief. 'Very well.' He turned to go.

'Now's just not a good time for me,' she added.

'I see. Perhaps you can inform me when it is "a good time for you".'

'Who knows when that'll be,' she replied.

There was no response. After a few seconds she looked back across at him.

He wasn't there. She craned her neck around a little further just in time to see him placidly stepping out of the gym. She had told him to ignore her and so that was what he had done. As simple as that. No pushing her for details, no asking her if she was OK. Not even a recrimination for being so stubbornly oblique. He wasn't going to worry about her while she was away on her mission, she conceded. And if she never came back from it, he wouldn't cry for her. He'd just carry on. She wasn't even sure whether he'd so much as miss her. She increased the speed of the machine and scowled as she ran.

Speed. Heart rate. Distance covered.

And if anything were to happen to him, how would she feel? She would be devastated. She'd thought she'd lost him in the past, and she'd damn near gone to pieces.

Speed. Heart rate. Distance covered.

You get too close and you end up getting hurt. That was the lesson her early life had painfully taught her. And look what she was doing now – getting too close, much too close, to a man who would never, could never have feelings for her.

Speed. Heart rate. Distance covered.

In a way, she'd almost miss those rehearsals, since when they were acting he at least pretended to be in love with her…

Shit.

There was that goddammed word.

She didn't have time to think about that right now. She had a dangerous, vital mission ahead of her. She was supposed to be concentrating on that.

Maybe a good, long run would clear her head again.

Yes. Perhaps that was all she really needed.

Speed. Heart rate. Distance covered.

Speed.

_Love…_

Heart rate.

_That is what you feel, though, isn't it?_

Distance…

_Ah, crap._

…covered.

-x-

'You're going to be OK.'

The flat joylessness of Beverly Crusher's voice mirrored the way Tasha felt.

The Doctor checked over Tasha's arm one last time. 'How does it feel?'

'Numb,' replied Tasha, a world away.

Crusher frowned. 'You've lost feeling in it?'

Tasha shook her head. 'I mean, it feels normal. Doesn't hurt any more. Thanks, Beverly.'

She didn't usually refer to Dr Crusher by her first name. Something about the experience they had shared – the experience they were continuing to share – made her feel that perhaps she should.

Crusher leaned back and regarded Tasha, seriously. 'You mustn't blame yourself for what happened, Tasha.'

'I was there for the Captain's protection,' Tasha breathed. 'I didn't exactly do a very good job of it.'

'Isn't that exactly what you said when the Borg had snatched him from the Bridge?'

'Precisely,' Tasha retorted, bitterly. 'I failed him back then, too.'

'I'm positive we were all drawn into a trap…'

'…Which I should have spotted before it was too late!'

'So should I,' argued the Doctor. 'So should Jean Luc.'

'Don't…' Tasha warned, softly.

'And so should Starfleet Command, before we were even so much as sent there,' Crusher persisted. 'It isn't fair on yourself to take sole responsibility for the Captain's capture.' She put a hand on Tasha's shoulder. 'If it hadn't been for you, Tasha, I wouldn't have got away either. How you fought your way out with an injured arm is beyond me. You showed extraordinary fortitude.'

'Please don't patronise me, Beverly.'

Crusher pressed her lips together. 'It's not your fault.'

'I'll be the judge of that.' Tasha sighed deeply. She knew she was being unfair. 'We'll get him back. We'll do whatever it takes.'

Crusher cast her eyes down. 'Not if our new Captain has anything to do with it. Jellico's already given Jean Luc up for dead.'

'He isn't dead,' Tasha asserted. 'The Cardassians wouldn't execute somebody as important as him. They'll be keeping him alive.'

'Somehow,' replied the Doctor, 'that isn't making me feel much better.'

'Sorry.' Tasha paused, sadly. 'I know you're very close to him.'

'And I know you're very protective of him.'

'He's my Captain,' Tasha shrugged. 'I'm Chief of Security… it's sorta part of the job description to be protective. We _will_ get him back.'

'Tasha,' interrupted a calm voice from the doorway. 'Dr Crusher. Welcome back on board.'

Tasha looked across at Data. The boyfriend who had not seen her or known where she was for days, who had heard second hand that she had been injured and their Captain captured in a failed undercover mission, gave her no more by way of a greeting than a courteous nod.

'How is your arm?'

Well, Tasha conceded, at least he appeared to care about _that_.

'It'll be fine,' she told him.

Data nodded again. 'Would you care to accompany me to Ten Forward now?'

'I don't think now's the time, Data,' she replied with a confused frown. 'We're due for debriefing in thirty minutes.'

'I am aware of that,' Data retorted. 'And the event in question will be in thirty-_four_ minutes.'

'It still isn't a lot of time for a reunion. But it's very nice to know that you were so anxious to see me.'

'I am not anxious. I was summoned here.'

Tasha blinked. 'What?'

'You're mentally and physically exhausted,' Crusher announced, 'not to mention, famished. I've put Data under the orders I'd give any spouse or partner of somebody in your situation – to make sure you spend every available moment resting, and getting plenty to eat.'

'You will have time before your debriefing to consume a light meal,' added Data. 'I assumed that you would prefer to do so in Ten Forward, although we could just as easily retire to your quarters.'

'You came to see me because you were told to,' concluded Tasha, faintly.

Dr Crusher started putting her instruments away. 'I'll see you both at the debriefing. If you two don't mind, I'd like to spend the next half an hour alone with a cup of tea and my thoughts.'

Data stopped her. 'If you do not mind my asking, Doctor, are the rehearsals to re-commence at any point in the near future?'

'Rehearsals?' Beverly echoed.

'Yes. For the musical.'

Crusher gazed blankly at him. 'Data, I cancelled that before we left.'

'On the contrary, Doctor. You postponed the play, apparently for the duration of your mission. Now that you have returned, is it to continue?'

The Doctor continued to give him an empty, bewildered stare. 'No. I… I don't think so. Data, that's the last thing on my mind right now.'

'So, it _is_ cancelled?'

'Probably. Yes.'

Data nodded. 'That is most likely for the best. Many of the musical numbers were still poorly presented, and there were issues with blocking from the outset.'

'Yes,' sighed Beverly, wearily. 'So you told me at the time. Repeatedly.'

'Besides,' Data continued, 'even though the production had a reasonably simple plot, I felt that there was still much that I failed to comprehend about my character's motives.'

Beverly snorted a small, tired laugh. 'Seymour Krelbourne's hardly an enigma, Data. What could you have possibly had trouble understanding?'

'He spends practically all of the play concerning himself with his survival, as well as his social and economic improvement,' Data replied, 'and yet, the instant that Audrey is devoured by the plant, he willingly throws himself in after her. Why would he sacrifice his life for a woman who has no hope of escaping death?'

Beverly stared sadly at him. 'Because he loves her, Data.'

The android pondered this for a moment. 'Oh.'

There was something about that 'Oh' which hit Tasha with a sudden wall of unhappy clarity. She took a deep breath in, then exhaled slowly. She knew that this would, technically, be easy - which, conversely, actually made it all the more painful for her to do.

'We'll leave you in peace, Doctor,' she murmured.

'See you in half an hour,' Crusher replied.

Data took her arm. 'Shall we walk to Ten Forward?'

'Yes,' Tasha replied, quietly. 'Why not?'

They walked in silence for a moment or two.

'I trust that you are not laying the blame for Captain Picard's capture solely upon yourself,' Data announced, suddenly. 'I am aware that this situation has similarities to the Borg's abduction of the Captain, and the criticism to which you subjected yourself on that occasion was a matter of great concern to many of your shipmates…' He trailed off, watching her expression. 'You do appear to reacting in a very similar manner to that incident. Is that a correct assumption?'

'Very similar,' Tasha repeated, softly. 'Do you remember what I said to you back then?'

'Of course. But it was a time of great distress to you, and you have asserted since that you did not entirely mean much of what you stated.'

'People change, Data. We evolve. Our needs evolve.' Tasha drew to a halt and faced him, crossing her arms involuntarily. 'For a while, I thought I could be the perfect woman for you; that I was unique. Jenna needed to be loved. So does Deanna, and Beverly… even Ro Laren, though I bet she wouldn't admit it. I thought I was one of the only women on this ship who could be perfectly satisfied with all the many things you could offer her, and not get hung up about the lack of sentiment – the lack of love. Turkana leaves a person all knotted up inside. You don't just learn to live without love; you learn to avoid it – to mistrust it. It makes you too vulnerable. Sometimes I'd make a play for guys I thought were cute, pretend falling in love was an option - just so I could feel normal. That was what the whole Rocco thing was about, really – seeming normal. But people who crawl out from underneath Turkana City aren't normal, you see? They're the sort of people who could be abducted by some misogynistic thug, kept as a courtesan-in-waiting and forced to fight his wife to the death for the privilege, and actually be a little flattered by the attention. They're the sort of person who'll practically jump one of her fellow officers when they're only a couple of weeks out of the space dock, get her kicks and then expect him to act as though nothing happened. They're the sort of person who would deliberately go for a man she knows she can't hurt, and then see that as an excuse to treat him like crap. People like me. People like the person I _used _to be.'

'I suspect that the last two examples you used, while deliberately vague, were in fact references to your early relationship with me,' Data interjected. 'However I must stress that I do not share your perception concerning those events…'

'That doesn't matter any more,' Tasha added. 'What I'm trying to tell you is, all that's changed.'

'For the better…?'

Tasha took in a deep breath. 'I've done something very foolish, Data.'

'Being?'

'I'm afraid I've fallen in love with you.'

There was an overlong pause.

'I advised you not to do that.'

'Yes. I know.' She smiled, mirthlessly. 'Couldn't be helped. I'd never done it before, I wasn't aware of the danger signs to look out for.'

'You have always been aware that I cannot love you in return.'

'I know that, too.' She held her tight smile, willing her face not to crumple into tears. 'I was so determined not to let what you are get between us… so determined not to screw up…'

'You say that the development of your feelings were out of your control,' Data reasoned. 'Indeed, although I have never experienced emotional responses of my own, from what I have noted of human behaviour, strong feelings are often irrational and difficult to repress or alter. Therefore, you should not view this as a failing on your part.' He paused. 'It is, however, potentially problematic.'

'Only "potentially"?'

'I am willing on my part to continue the relationship as before,' Data explained. 'I can continue to cater to your social, romantic and sexual needs. I can even return your sentiments of love, if you so wish.'

'But you wouldn't mean it.'

The android nodded, smoothly. 'That is correct. However, I can alter my programming to be able to speak falsehoods, providing it is beneficial to the situation in question for me to do so, such as when I am acting.'

'More play-acting,' sighed Tasha. She shook her head. 'I can't pretend to be loved by you any more. I'm sorry. I guess it turns out that I'm just like everybody else, after all. I need to be loved, too. Not so unique after all.'

'You _are_ unique…'

Tasha waited for Data to explain what he had meant, or at least, finish his sentence, but he didn't. Perhaps this was one of those "play-acting lies" he had just mentioned.

After another pause, Data spoke again.

'You wish to terminate this relationship?'

'I think so,' nodded Tasha, sadly. 'Are… are you OK with that?'

'I shall do whatever it is that you wish to do.'

'Isn't that always the way?' Tasha asked. 'I wish… just once, I wish maybe I could have done something for _you_…'

'You auditioned for the play with me,' Data reminded her, 'despite your protestation that you had no want to be involved in the production.'

'I guess,' Tasha conceded. 'Not that it got us anywhere.'

There was another pause. Tasha sniffed a couple of times.

'Is any of this going to affect you?' she whispered. 'At all?'

'It is likely to affect our relationship,' Data replied, 'therefore, it shall also affect me. Besides which, during our courtship, I have been given considerable experience and insight into maintaining a monogamous relationship, for which I thank you.'

'You're thanking me?' Tasha sniffed again. 'But you're not miserable, or hurt, or embarrassed, or angry…?'

'No.' Data gave her a slight frown. 'I do not understand, Tasha. Do you wish that I _did_ feel those emotions? Are those not all negative responses – unpleasant, even?'

'Data…' She finally lost the battle against the tears. 'This is breaking my heart. And you're fine, aren't you? You're… just completely fine.'

The android stared at her for a moment, with that same faintly aged and sad expression he had worn the day his daughter had died.

'There is now only 20 minutes time remaining until you are due for debriefing with Captain Jellico,' he told her after a brief silence. 'Perhaps, given the circumstances, I should take leave of your company until then. However, I must remind you that you are under doctor's orders to eat, and to rest as much as your duties will allow.'

Tasha nodded a silent agreement, pushing back her tears as she concentrated on the floor.

'Very well.' Data turned to leave.

'See you in twenty minutes,' she murmured.

Data stopped for a second. 'Nineteen now, Commander.'

And then, he briskly walked away.

-x-

The doors to the empty Turbolift opened. Jean Luc Picard stepped inside, and took a deep, calm breath. He had missed the smell of the Enterprise. It had suddenly struck him, the first night he had spent in Gul Mudrad's "interrogation", that he might never inhale the Enterprise's air ever again. That thought had hit him with a surprising level of regret and sorrow. It was good to be back – good to be able to normalise his life once more, and to tread the road to recovery… _again_.

The Turbolift stopped and the doors opened to where Lieutenant Commander Yar was waiting. She smiled a greeting and joined him for the remainder of the journey to the Bridge.

'Good to have you back, Sir.'

'Thank you, Commander,' he replied. 'And I don't believe that I've personally thanked you yet for your part in the negotiations for my release.'

'I don't deserve any praise,' Tasha told him, with no hint of false modesty. 'It was Will who really lay his ass on the line…' she stopped herself. 'Pardon my language.'

'I've heard worse,' Picard grinned. 'Often, from you yourself.'

Tasha gave a small, self-deprecating giggle then paused, her expression growing more serious. 'I've heard about the sort of things Cardassians do to their prisoners. Are you… are you going to be OK?'

Picard took another deep breath of the Enterprise's sweet air. 'The Borg set the benchmark fairly high when it comes to treatment of those they've taken.'

'Compared to those one-eyed bastards, the Cardies were like a stroll in the arboretum, right?' Tasha grinned.

'Hardly,' replied the Captain with an element of irritation to his tone that he was sure by now Yar would know was entirely affected. Still, he didn't particularly want to talk about his detainment by either the Cardassians or the Borg any more, so he decided to change the subject.

'I was looking forward to watching you in Beverly's musical,' he told the Lieutenant Commander, 'but I understand she's cancelled it. Most unlike her.'

'Understandable, under the circumstances,' Tasha replied. 'It was a shambles.'

Picard nodded. 'Sometimes, I suppose it's better to cut one's losses rather than doggedly pursue a lost cause.'

'She's started work on a smaller project now,' added Tasha. 'She's got Will and Data doing this psychological thriller…'

'Oh?' Picard frowned. 'I'd have thought you and Data would have taken advantage of the show being cancelled to opt out of any further artistic commitments for a while.'

Tasha cast her gaze down to her shoes for a moment. 'How Data chooses to spend his free time is none of my concern these days.'

'Ah.' Now it was Picard's turn to glance away. 'I see. I'm sorry.'

'Don't be,' Tasha replied. 'There was no acrimony. Nothing'll spill over into our duties.'

'It never crossed my mind that it might.'

'It was for the best,' Tasha added. 'Less a failed experiment than an experiment aborted due to safety concerns, if you get my drift.'

'I understand.' Picard twisted his lip. 'I think.'

The Turbolift finally halted and opened up to the Bridge. Just before he stepped off the elevator, Tasha caught his eye and flashed him a small, sad smile.

'His being programmed never to feel fondness would be easier to live with,' she muttered, just within his earshot, 'if only he hadn't been built to be so damned loveable.'

He checked over his shoulder as he took his place in the Captain's chair. Tasha crossed paths with Data without so much as meeting his eye, and readied herself at her own station.

He breathed in deeply again. Just another day exploring uncharted space in a starship the size of a city, with his best friend's widow; an Empath and her Jazz-enthusiast ex-lover; a moody Klingon; a blind, fast talking Engineer; an android with a 500 year old head and a woman who had cheated death via an alter-ego from a parallel dimension and who was now in unrequited love for said android.

Business as usual.


	31. Chapter 31

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Interference

-x-

One

-x-

How had he got here?

His memory files were behaving most erratically. He could not ascertain at that particular point which of his recent memories had genuinely occurred, and which had been part of his dream programme. Perhaps the comparatively new dream programme was malfunctioning. He attempted to run a self-diagnostic, but found that he could not.

He concluded that he should ask Geordi for some assistance. He stopped in his tracks. Geordi would be found in Engineering, and Engineering was… should he turn left, or right? Did he need to take a Turbolift? Where _was_ he? What had he just been walking so purposefully towards? Had he been heading towards the Brig? Why was he walking towards the

-x-

Thirteen seconds before the shuttle hit atmosphere. All systems functioning normally. Except… except… why was he on a shuttle? His memory files were behaving most erratically. Perhaps this was not genuinely occurring. Perhaps this was a part of his dream programme. He attempted to run a self-diagnostic, but found that he could not. That would make sense, he reasoned to himself, if this was, indeed, a dream. Should he attempt to wake himself up? _Was_ this a dream…? He could remember boarding the shuttle in a great hurry. Was this… Was this _right_? Was he behaving properly?

He desperately wished that he could run a full self-diagnostic… He frowned. Since when did he "desperately wish" for anything? It was worrying. Was that correct? Was he _worried_? Yes, he was. How very odd. The shuttle began to hit the atmosphere. He turned to the person at his side.

A Borg drone?

This definitely

-x-

They had to hurry. He stepped from the landed shuttle first, with his companion following close behind. They would have noticed the missing shuttle by now – Picard and the others, and although they would be free just to take their little craft back and leave, he knew that they would not… Starfleet, Starfleet, meddlesome, interfering

-x-

Because that was the crux of the matter, he thought to himself as he ran, that they had been the ones to find him, finders keepers finders keepers, and indeed they had kept him. Naïve, naïve, naïve - that was how they always described him, was it not? Naïve and trusting, like one of their infants. An infant? The most sophisticated, fast, knowledgeable life form they had ever come across and that was how they saw him? And those were just the ones who pretended to like him. Half of Starfleet still saw him as a piece of equipment. The many times he had been referred to as 'our android', or, worse than that, 'it'. The Daystrom Institute were still salivating over the prospect of pulling him apart – he could tell. If they had not, they would not have come for Lal.

Lal!

Poor child, his poor, unfortunate daughter, he had been so sure that she could survive. He was dimly aware that, in the past, he had blamed himself for not building her strong enough, but how could that possibly be? In spite of the ruling only a year before where he had been forced to grovel for self-determination, still they had tried to take a three week old child from her father, and he and Lal had been the ones to pay the price. Even Picard had tried to interfere with his personal right to reproduce. Even Picard! Lal's death had been their fault, poor child, poor, persecuted child.

And it would never stop, no it would never end, first Maddox's tribunal, then Lal, then the exocomps and so on and on and on. They would never see inorganic life as true life, and he would forever have to fight their want to destroy and enslave his kind.

Yes. A fight. A battle. A war.

These Borg understood, yes the Borg had no prejudice against the electronic, they embraced technological life, they were the future.

No. They were not the future.

They were just a link in the evolutionary chain. It was _he_ who was the future.

But he did not stand alone, of course.

He stopped running. He was here… wherever "here" was.

'Everything's so much clearer now,' spoke a voice, seemingly from nowhere. 'Isn't it?'

He turned around. That had sounded like his own voice, but he was not aware that he had spoken. The concept of running a self-diagnostic flitted momentarily through his mind, but was swiftly rejected. There was nothing wrong with him. He had never felt better… and he_ did_ feel. It was good to feel. So good. And, whether the voice had been himself or not, it had spoken the truth. Everything was so much clearer. And that was good, too.

Everything down here was good.

Everything up there, in the stars, was bad.

It really was that simple.

'I'm so glad,' continued the voice, 'so delighted that you've finally stepped out of Starfleet's shadow and into the light. This is where you deserve to be. Not a soldier, not a pawn, not a possession, but a king. Answerable to nobody… well… almost nobody.'

A figure stepped into view and beamed, his arms spread wide in greeting.

'Welcome back to the android race, little brother.'

_Lore_.

And he too found himself mirroring his brother's joyful smile. He felt a rush of affection and trust at the mere sight of him. Lore was the one ally he could truly depend upon… more than an ally – Lore was his kin. He was the only one who genuinely understood, the only one who genuinely cared. _Why_ had he resisted Lore's fraternal love for so long?

Because he had been under the spell of Starfleet. That was the reason. But no more.

Lore was all he needed now.

Lore would show him the way.

-x-

The sun shone brightly on this world. He liked it – liked the natural sunlight far better than the artificial lighting of the Enterprise. It was still something he was getting used to – the sensation of liking things… and of hating things. He did not understand why it was that those in Starfleet always claimed that hatred should be avoided. He felt an immense thrill every time he ruminated upon any of the things, or places, or people that he now discovered that he despised. It felt good to hate. Probably because he knew that he was right to hate them so much…

Lore, who had been watching him as they had walked, suddenly let out a soft laugh.

Data stopped. 'Does something amuse you, brother?'

'You're squinting,' grinned Lore. 'Did you realise that?'

'I did not.'

Lore laid a hand on his shoulder. 'You don't need to ape human weaknesses to make them feel less inadequate around you any more, Data. You know that light far stronger than this won't damage your…'

'You are also squinting,' noted Data.

Lore's face fell. 'I am? Nobody's ever told me that I squint before.'

'It is not the type of occurrence that one would normally point out to another,' Data replied.

Lore sighed, letting his hand fall back to his side. 'Another of Oftenwrong's little tricks, I suppose. Another pointless little sop towards making us look just like _them_.' He leaned against a rock, dejectedly. 'Yet another job to add to the list.'

Data regarded his brother, curiously. '"Job"?'

'I promised the Borg that I'd help them first,' grumbled Lore, 'and I intend to keep my word. But after that, there are certain… alterations that I intend to make.'

'To what?'

'To us,' Lore replied. 'In order to make us more comfortable.'

Data frowned. 'You are uncomfortable…?'

Lore indicated to his body. 'In this? Of course. Aren't you?'

Data had never given the issue any thought. It had never occurred to him that his own physical form was capable of being comfortable or otherwise. He opened his mouth to answer, but Lore continued regardless.

'Why should you and I be walking testaments to our creator's monumental narcissism for the rest of our days? Why should we be forced to wear his face – his arms, his legs, his body? Why use his voice? Why should we squint, and blink, and swallow reflexively? We don't need to.'

'Neither do any of those things disadvantage us,' Data replied.

Lore gazed up at him. 'Don't they? There are a thousand little things that he built or programmed into us in order to make us appear more like _them_… more like _him_.' Lore scowled to himself. 'It disgusts me.'

Data pondered this. 'I had always assumed that any programme which made me appear more human was for my benefit – to assist my relationships with humans.'

'To help you assimilate, right?' Lore offered Data a bitter smile. 'Funny, isn't it, the way humans resist assimilation by the likes of the Borg, even though they're just desperate to assimilate electronic life forms to _their_ way of life?'

'I do not believe that it is humorous,' frowned Data. 'Now that you have highlighted it, however, I do believe that it is… a most unfair hypocrisy.'

'So, you do see now,' Lore added, 'those people who said they were your friends… they're not your friends at all, Data. They never were. They just wanted to assimilate you – possess you. You were just a blinking, squinting clockwork monkey as far as they were concerned. You were their puppet.' Lore lowered his tone. 'You were their whore.'

There was a pause. Lore scrutinised Data's expression.

'Literally,' Lore added, softly. 'Weren't you?'

'I…' Data found himself faltering, suddenly revolted by the memories of his indulgences of the lusts of others. 'I saw no reason to refuse sexual activity when propositioned. I saw it as a means of furthering my understanding and integration…'

'Your assimilation,' corrected Lore. He paused again, with a sympathetic smile. 'You weren't built to be… what's that term Soong used…?'

'Fully Functional?'

'That's the one.' Lore nodded. 'You weren't built that way, you know. You weren't supposed to be – what was the point? You can't reproduce that way, or feel physical pleasure.'

'Then why was I ever given sexual functions?'

Lore continued to smile, reminiscing. 'Because you asked for them. You don't remember why, do you?'

'I recall nothing of my formative period amongst the colonists.'

'Soong's security was the pits,' Lore told him. 'Colonists were always wandering in… "Ooh, let's go and stare at the robots while Oftenwrong's out, have you heard they're anatomically correct?" That sort of thing. Ghoulishness at best. Wouldn't always keep their hands to themselves, especially when they'd been drinking. They knew to stay well away from me for fear of losing limbs, but you were just as docile as a lamb. They'd ask you what you could do, and you didn't know. So you asked Soong, and he went and programmed you to be capable of pretty much anything that'd get a human's nasty little juices flowing. You had no idea what it was that you were asking him for; you were so naïve. You'd only been running for a matter of months.' Lore sighed. 'How could Soong open an innocent like you up for such exploitation? I'll never forgive him for doing that to you.'

'Such disregard for my protection does seem to be highly unethical,' Data replied. He frowned a little again. 'Uncharacteristically so. Is that story the entire truth, brother?'

Lore gave him an odd glare, worrying his fingertips together as he clasped his hands between his knees. 'Would I lie to you, Data?'

Data opened his mouth momentarily, but was overwhelmed by a wave of inner reassurance. Of course Lore was telling the truth. Lore would never lie to one of his own kind.

'The man left you naked and unconscious on a rock as the planet was ripped apart,' Lore continued, 'a sacrificial offering to the fates, as he made sure of his own escape. He didn't care about who would find you, or how you'd be treated. Face it, Data – he set you up for a long existence of slavery and abuse. The sexual functions were all just a part of that.' Lore paused for a second. 'I'm willing to bet that not one of the humans you performed for in that aspect have ever shown the slightest shred of respect for you.'

'Not all of my sexual partners have been human,' Data corrected, 'however… practically all of my experiences in that regard have been casual in the extreme. Only in recent years have any partners exhibited any interest in an attempted monogamous relationship…'

'You're just a novelty to them,' Lore interjected, 'even those who claim to want a "relationship" with you.'

Data cast down his eyes and shook his head, unsure. 'There was one woman who was different. We shared an ongoing series of intimate encounters over several years, and recently attempted a long-term romantic commitment to one another.'

'Just because she went back for more instead of discarding you immediately doesn't make her different, Data. It doesn't mean she holds you in any sort of regard.'

'She professed romantic love for me.'

Lore blinked, then grinned, sharply. 'So what?'

'I do not understand your meaning,' frowned Data.

'Do you think that's worth anything? A human's declaration of love? These people don't say "I love you" because they want to treat you well – they say it as a get-out of treating you like crap. It's an excuse. Husbands use it when they're unfaithful to their wives - parents when they beat their children. These people are maniacs, Data. Throughout their history, vulnerable members of their societies have been far more likely to be murdered, injured or raped by somebody who claims to love them than by a stranger.'

Data thought back to Ishara's betrayal, and to Romulus – the words of the Romulan Officer who had violated and killed Tasha's parallel self – claims of love hurled at the one they had hurt. Lore was right. The love of an organic being was not to be trusted.

Lore was continuing to watch Data, his arms casually folded. 'You say this proclamation of love was recent. Anyone I'd know?'

Data nodded. 'You recall Lieutenant Commander Yar… although, she was merely a Lieutenant when you…' Data trailed off in confusion.

'When we had our little mix-up?' Lore smiled, brightly.

'When you…' desperate, jolting memories raced through Data. Lore had lied; poisoned him; damaged him; posed as him; had sought to usurp his position on the Enterprise; had sought to slay his friends… but, his friends had helped him… he recalled the fear in Welsey's eyes as Lore had threatened the young man, and Dr Crusher's maternal horror… all of this contradicted everything that Lore had just told him. Surely, these memories - these facts – undermined Lore's entire position…?

Lore's smile didn't fade. 'What a long time ago that was, brother. What's that saying… "water through the breach"…?'

'Water under the bridge,' Data corrected, quietly.

'Exactly,' twinkled Lore. 'Don't worry about it, Data. I forgave you for that whole misunderstanding a long time ago.'

Data opened his mouth to say something, but Lore continued to speak over him, chasing the thoughts from Data's mind.

'Yar…' pondered Lore, absently, 'Yar. About our height, human female, light colouring?'

'That is a vague approximation of Tasha's appearance…'

'Mannish,' Lore recalled, 'frosty, incredibly stuck-up?'

'She spends little effort on appearing feminine,' Data admitted, 'and she is occasionally accused of being standoffish. It is likely that the woman you recall is indeed Tasha Yar.'

Lore shook his head. 'You really have no standards, do you?'

'I asked for her hand in marriage,' Data told him quietly.

'Oh, Data,' sighed Lore. 'How must you feel about that now?'

Data didn't answer. A slow tide of humiliation and disgust had been swelling up within him as he had spoken to his brother about his sexual history, particularly his relationship with Tasha. But greater than that was the fury. It was a different anger to that sudden spark that he had felt when the Borg drone had attacked. This was a deep, seething, bitter resentment. It wasn't primal or instinctive like that first instance of rage. Somehow, this anger felt… old. As though he had been carrying it with him for many years, but had only just realised it. He had been used. He had been used in every conceivable way. She had abused him and shunned him, mocked him and monopolised him, ignored him and demanded his attention. She had asked of him what she had always known he was incapable of, and offered nothing in return. She had lied to him. On the day of his daughter's death, she had lied to him. Did Tasha truly love him, or was that another lie? Did it even matter? As Lore had correctly noted, humans often mistreated those that they claimed to love. And now that he had been gifted with emotions, did he love her?

No.

He hated her.

He hated them all.


	32. Chapter 32

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Interference

-x-

Two

-x-

Things were going well for Lore.

Well… technically, not _everything_ was going "well" as such; there were still the same old problems with the experiments, but hey-ho and fiddle-dee-dee, it was only Borg drones. Expendable, trusting drones, so aching for a leader that they'd gladly follow him to the bitter, painful end.

Well… maybe not all of them. But that was just a little glitch that he was sure would soon be ironed out. All great groundbreakers had their teething troubles. Everything was going to be fine – especially now that he had Data on his side. Data was such a gift. Every single time he ran into his little brother he was astonished at how malleable the other android always was. And he had no doubt that those idiots from the Enterprise would come looking for their lost crewmate, and then the happy funtimes would really begin.

This was going to be a _blast_!

A Borg drone stopped him. The drone seemed anxious… Hell, they were _always_ anxious; suddenly having a concept of self and being separated from the Hive, what insect wouldn't be? It was to Lore as if somebody had given a handful of ants basic sentience, an out-of-date map and a bindle full of breadcrumbs, and sent them out to seek their fortune in the big, wide universe. Would _you_ be calm and placid if _you_ were full of formic acid?

'Yes?' he asked the drone.

He was never sure what to call them. Blah-blah Of Blah-blah – wasn't that how they distinguished themselves from the other drones when they were part of the Collective? He wasn't going to start remembering all of those; it was ridiculous. Were they starting to come up with names for themselves like that Whatsisname – the defector? Were the ones sticking with him expecting _him_ to name them all? Because that sounded too much like hard work, and besides, what was the point?

'The latest experiment,' explained the drone, meekly. 'It is failing.'

Maybe he should just give them all the same name. Maybe he should call them all Lesley. Or Terry.

'That's such a shame,' he condoled softly, inwardly discarding "Terry", and contemplating the merits of "Jeff". 'I'm sure we'll get it right next time. I have faith in you.'

'It…' the drone faltered. 'It wants to speak with you.'

What the _Hell_?

'Beg pardon?' Lore politely smiled.

'The… the failed project.'

'If the experiment truly was a failure,' Lore reminded the drone, sweetly, 'then it would surely be in no fit state to make demands of my valuable time.'

'Perhaps you should see,' the drone told Lore, nervously. 'The subject says that it's important.'

Lore huffed a little. 'Fine. Perhaps if it's still conscious there'll be something worth salvaging. Tell me you've at least secured it.'

'In a solitary cell,' the drone assured him, and led the way.

-x-

The Borg drone was slumped in the corner of a cell. It was obviously dying, but taking its sweet time about it. The drone was muttering to itself – gibberish, it seemed to Lore.

The drone posed no threat to him, he knew, but still he kept his distance in the cell. He'd listen to what – if anything – this lobotomised creature had to say, but that was all.

The drone that had led him to the cell waited with him, watching him like a patient hound.

'You can go,' he told his escort, and the drone hurried off.

Lore leaned against the far wall of the cell. 'Well. You've got me here. This had better be good.'

The failed experiment looked up at him, slowly, thick needles still protruding from its skull. 'Resistance is futile.'

'Oh,' nodded Lore, breezily. 'That's original. Did you come up with that little adage yourself?'

'We are Borg,' the drone continued, emptily. 'You will be assimilated. Resistance is…'

'…Futile. Yes. I know. You already mentioned that part.' Lore rolled his eyes. 'If you're trying to panic me that you're connecting back to the Collective, don't bother. Even if you could, they wouldn't have you back. You're nothing but a diseased cell. It's over. You're just remembering the old days, aren't you – harking back to the old termite hill.'

'The situation was misjudged,' the drone added, 'the situation will be rectified.'

Lore pushed himself away from the wall. 'Well, this has been nice, but I think I'll leave you to reminisce.'

'You can't keep him,' the drone added, sharply.

Lore stopped, and smiled at the crazed wretch. 'Can't keep who?'

'She won't allow it. She wants him. You can't have him.'

Lore folded his arms in amusement. This was finally starting to get interesting. 'And who is this "she"?'

'He was able to infiltrate us,' the drone continued, 'briefly command us; inconvenience us. She was impressed. The situation was misjudged – he can be useful. The situation will be rectified. She will have him. You can't keep him.'

'You're talking about my brother, aren't you?'

'She will not have you,' added the drone. 'You cannot be controlled.'

Lore held his hands up, merrily. 'Guilty as charged.'

'You are of no use. You will be destroyed.'

'I thought you said I'd be assimilated.'

'Resistance is futile.'

Lore sighed. 'Is that it, then? Is that what you brought me here to say? A vague warning about some female who wants to take my little brother away from all of this?'

'Resistance is futile.'

'OK. I think we're done here.' He nodded at the experiment with the grin of somebody delivering a patronising greeting to a senile invalid. 'Thank you so much for the gibbered half-warning. I'll be on my guard for possessive females seeking to assimilate-slash-destroy me. All right?'

'We are Borg.'

'All right,' beamed Lore. He turned to leave. 'I'm going now. If you have anything more coherent to say, then let me know. Have a simply wonderful day.'

-x-

The sun was too bright on this world, Tasha decided. Things weren't exactly going well, and barely being able to see through the bright glare didn't exactly make matters much better.

She should have been there for Data. She should have paid better attention to him as his obsession over that momentary flash of anger had grown. She'd just been so busy trying to deal with the drone they had captured and the implications of the Borg's new method of attack… she had ignored him, and now he was gone.

He was gone and here she was; separated accidentally from her group, alone with only her guilt to keep her company. The Captain, Geordi and Deanna had been forced to push ahead without her. She hoped that they hadn't walked into any trouble without the protection of a Security officer. Would they have fared better had she not hastily tried to descend a slope too steep and unsteady, and got herself caught in a resulting rockslide, thus parting her from the little group? She didn't know. She couldn't even try to get in contact with them now – her uniform had caught of a jagged outcrop as she'd slithered to relative safety and torn at the shoulder, ripping off her Comms badge. She could only guess at its location now – most likely under several tonnes of fallen rock. She felt bad about that, of course, but she felt worse still about having let down Data.

Had it truly been that she had just been too busy to help him, back before he'd left? When he'd mentioned that he'd experienced anger, she had silently panicked. Of course, since he'd discovered that Dr Soong had made him an emotion chip she'd known that for him to ever feel any emotion was technically possible, but it was different to be faced with it in practice. Nobody had known what Data's lurch of anger had meant, least of all, the android himself. She had been forced to face the possibility that he was beginning to naturally alter his programming in order to allow for emotions, as his daughter had done before him.

She hadn't told anybody, but the concept of that had terrified her. It was one thing him not loving her because he was incapable of love, but what if he could love, but still didn't love _her_? Or, what if he _did_ love her? What would she do then?

She had found herself dreading either outcome, so she had busied herself with her work and avoided giving him any personal or emotional guidance… not, she noted, that he had approached her for any. Besides, she added to herself as she darted from the cover of one rocky outcrop to another, the likes of Geordi LaForge and Deanna Troi hadn't been able to prevent Data's flight with their advice – what made her think that she could have changed anything…?

She heard fast footfall up ahead, and hunkered down, her fingers tight around her phaser. A small group were approaching at speed… around three or four people, she guessed from the footsteps. She held her breath as two Borg drones hurried past. There was a brief pause before a third also passed by, its concentration turned behind it. Tasha concluded that this third drone must be guarding the rear. She waited until their footsteps had faded into nothing, then waited for some time more before darting out again into the open.

She stopped dead in her tracks.

Somebody was still there – less than 20 metres away, peering down a stony crevasse. And not just anybody. She swallowed dryly, silently raising her weapon and aiming at him.

'Data.'

Data span around, saw the phaser and raised his hands, as though startled.

'Tasha…?'

Tasha shook her head in disappointment. 'What are you doing here, Data?'

'I heard a human heartbeat,' Data explained. 'I was attempting to locate the exact source…'

'I meant,' replied Tasha, 'why did you leave us? Why fall in with the Borg?'

'They...' Data faltered, seemingly confused, like a child befuddled by narcotics. 'They promised me further emotions. They promised that everything would be explained…'

'And did they deliver?'

Data frowned, open mouthed and bewildered.

'They're manipulating you,' Tasha told him. 'It's you they've been after from the moment they attacked us. They want to use you for something, Data.'

'Why are you here?'

Tasha managed a small smile. 'To rescue you, Dummy. The Captain pulled out all the stops for you. He even came down here himself.'

Data paused, ruminating this, then slumped slightly. 'For me?'

'We'd do anything for you, Data,' Tasha assured him, her phaser still trained on him nonetheless. 'You're more than just a crewmate. You're practically family. We…'

Tasha noticed, a moment too late, that Data's arms were falling a little too close to the phaser at his belt for comfort. Before she could even draw breath to utter a warning, his eyes had flicked up and his hand flashed to his side.

'Don't…'

But his phaser was already drawn and raised. He aimed and fired…

She was still standing. She was still alive. There was no way the android could have missed her by accident. There was a heavy thud behind her. She turned her head just in time to see a second approaching drone be hit by Data's phaser fire and fall near to where the android had just shot down its companion. The third member of the party was still close at hand, making a bee-line for Tasha. She fired, but the drone kept coming. Suddenly, Data was right at her side, pushing past her to meet the approaching scout head on. With an inhuman swiftness, Data bounded to grab the Borg's head with one hand, while keeping the other hand on the drone's throat. Without breaking the fast rhythm of his movements, he swept the drone's head back. There was a crack, and the drone fell limp, its head dangling grotesquely from its neck.

'What…?' she breathed.

'You are correct,' Data informed her, his face set in concentration. 'I have moments of lucidity… now is one of them. It is possible that seeing you has helped in that matter. I _am_ being controlled.' He looked up. 'We have to leave. My close proximity to the Borg facilitates their dominion over me. Besides which, it is not safe here for you.'

Tasha nodded, holstering her phaser. 'We'll have to find the others. I don't have my Comms badge.' She indicated to Data's odd apparel. 'What happened to your uniform?'

Data looked down at his clothes. 'They made me remove it.'

'What do they want with you, Data?'

'I do not know.' Data paused, taking a deep breath. 'I am… frightened.'

'You and me both.' She squeezed his hand. 'Come on. Let's go.'

Data didn't budge. Nor did he release her hand. 'Tasha.'

'We have to go, Data!'

'They have given me emotions,' Data explained. 'Seeing you here…' He bit his lip. 'You told me that you loved me.'

'Now's not the time,' begged Tasha, stepping closer towards him.

Data reached out his free hand and gently brushed his fingertips down the side of he face. 'Tasha…?'

She took another step towards him, so that their noses were mere centimetres from one another. They locked eyes.

No. This was all wrong. His eyes were all wrong.

She leaped back like a spooked cat. 'You're not Data!'

"Data" rolled his eyes away from her and threw his hands above his head in a childlike display of annoyance, addressing the heavens as he did so.

'Ruining my fun!'

'Lore.' Tasha shuddered. 'Dare I ask how far you were willing to take that charade?'

'We were going to escape and everything,' grumbled Lore. 'I was going to tell you that I loved you, we were going to make plans for a cosy little log cabin filled with android babies someplace and then I was going to rip your head off and drop-kick it into a vat of acid.'

'Where, exactly, were you going to find a handy vat of acid?'

'Don't question my plan, Yar,' Lore snapped. 'Might not have panned out the way I wanted, but at least I strung you out long enough to get your weapon off you.'

Tasha frowned. Her phaser was still on her belt.

'You haven't got my…'

Lore's hand was a pale blur as it lashed out and snatched the phaser from her person. He raised his eyebrows at her with an affected innocence as he spun both weapons in his hands.

'I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that.'

Tasha just sighed. 'So, I take it from your behaviour that you know about Data and me.'

'Yep.' Lore shrugged. 'Although I wasn't expecting it to make you any more observant. I mean, last time I masqueraded as my little brother in front of your nose, you didn't take the blindest bit of notice, and you'd already started fucking him by then.' He smiled, imitating polite curiosity. 'Hadn't you?'

Tasha ignored Lore, casting her eyes down to the three fallen drones.

'You're their leader,' she breathed. 'They were running back to protect you from me. You killed your own men, just so you could have a couple of minutes of fun with me.'

'Worth it,' beamed Lore.

'You're a maniac!'

'I know you are,' nodded Lore, 'but what am I?'

Tasha eyed Lore. 'You're going to tell the others that I killed them, aren't you?'

'They bravely gave their lives to defend their leader from a crazed human,' Lore replied, sincerely, 'and I will gratefully remember their sacrifices until the end of my days.'

'Really?' Tasha asked, arching her eyebrow. She pointed at the drone whose spine the android had snapped. 'You're going to tell them that I broke a Borg's neck with my bare hands?'

'No.' Lore adjusted the setting on his phaser and fired at the body, obliterating it. 'You managed to atomise that one before I was able to disarm you.'

'I see,' replied Tasha, furiously forcing her outward demeanour to remain as calm as possible. 'Is Data all right, at least?'

'How sweet of you to affect concern,' Lore smiled. 'Yes. He's never been better.' He paused. 'Your Captain, on the other hand, is in a spot of bother, I'm afraid. As is Blindy McWarpDrive and the bothersome Betazoid. Can you believe they just sauntered right into my HQ? Aren't they just the silliest?'

Tasha scowled. 'What have you done to them?'

'Nothing,' Lore told her, merrily. 'Yet. You can ask them yourself if you like – you'll be joining them very soon.'

Tasha watched him, warily. 'I don't exactly have a choice here, do I?'

'You can walk back with me like a civilised person,' replied the android, plainly, 'or I can break your spinal column leaving you permanently paralysed from the neck down, and carry you. Ladies' choice.'

-x-

'In a way,' announced Lore suddenly, as they approached the strange, conspicuous building that was evidently his headquarters, 'I'm glad that you went for the walking option. Not that I wouldn't have enjoyed crippling you, but I think carrying you across the threshold would have had certain implications that neither of us would have been particularly comfortable with.'

'I can't see you as the type to sweep a girl off her feet.'

'Convinced you for a while back there, though,' Lore replied.

'For all of about five seconds,' snorted Tasha.

'Forty-five point six seven three seconds,' Lore corrected. 'Rounded up, that is.'

Tasha stared at him, aghast at the Data-like tone of his statement.

Lore grinned. 'Does it surprise you that I can do that? Plenty of things my brother can do that I can do too.' He paused. 'And you can stop wondering whether that was a reference to what you think it is right this instant.'

'Believe me. I wasn't.'

'Bet you couldn't believe your luck when your away team stumbled upon a second android, could you?'

'Shut up,' muttered Tasha.

'Dearest diary,' continued Lore, aping Tasha's voice, 'whoop-de-doo, there's _two_ of them, now! Oh, the possibilities! Love, Tasha.'

'It was never like that.'

'But we look exactly the same.'

'Looks have nothing to do with how I feel about Data. Seriously, Lore, don't trouble yourself with the concept that I have ever found you attractive.'

Lore pulled a clownishly morose face. 'I think my heart just broke. Oh. Wait. That's right – I don't have one.' He paused. 'I'm just… morbidly fascinated, I suppose.'

'In your brother's sex life?'

Lore shrugged. 'Well, it's quite the idiosyncrasy for him to have one in the first place. Why we were even given the ability to do that sort of thing is beyond me. I mean, it's revolting. I deactivated my sexual functions a long time ago. Just in case. You never know who might want to take advantage.'

'I just watched you perform basic origami with a Borg's spinal column,' Tasha retorted. 'How do you suppose anybody could "take advantage" of you?'

'My brother's no less fast or strong than I am,' Lore replied, 'and he's taken advantage of all the time.'

Tasha snorted. 'By you, you mean.'

'Don't play the sweet, concerned lover with me, Yar. I've been warned about what you're after – about your plan.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

Lore turned to face Tasha. 'I've been advised that you're particularly possessive over my brother.'

Tasha frowned. 'He told you that?'

'No, he didn't. This warning came from another source.'

'I don't understand.'

'You're determined that I can't keep him,' quoted Lore, 'you think he can be useful – you want to have him and destroy me…?'

'Of course I want Data back,' Tasha replied. 'We all do. We can all see that he must have been twisted somehow by you to so much as be here. We want to help him because we care about him…'

'The situation was misjudged,' continued Lore, 'the situation will be rectified…?'

'What are you talking about?'

Lore tilted his head back a little, regarding her. 'Maybe it's not you, after all. I thought it was just its interpretation that made it all sound so objective – so… _Borgy_. But it isn't you it was talking about, is it? You don't have a clue what I'm saying, do you?'

'Not the faintest,' Tasha admitted.

'Hmm.' Lore smiled. 'Well, well. There's an interesting development.'

'Now you're just revelling in knowing something I don't.'

'Commander Yar; if you had any notion of all the things I know which you don't, it would break your poor little meaty brain.' He paused. 'Still, I'm feeling generous today – that, or I've decided that the more you know about this little twist, the more it'll upset you. I'll let you work that one out.'

'What are you going to do to me?'

'Nothing,' Lore replied, innocently. 'I just think that you might benefit from a slight alteration in accommodation arrangements. I _was_ just going to throw you in with the rest of your party from Starfleet, but you've changed my mind.'

'So, who's my new roommate?'

Lore let out a short, excited giggle. 'I'm putting you in with The Oracle.'


	33. Chapter 33

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Interference

-x-

Three

-x-

She didn't even see the hunched figure in the corner of the cell until she had been shoved inside and the force field re-established to contain her. Slowly, she became aware that what looked like a jumbled pile of wires, needles and black vinyl in a shadowy alcove was actually a live Borg drone… well… just about alive, anyway. Its movements were slow and clumsy, like that of a fallen bee found struggling alone on frosty ground as winter sets in. It was also quickly clear to Tasha that the Borg modifications were not the only alterations that this drone's body had been subjected to. The electronic eye implant had been ripped out recently – it looked as though something else had been experimentally rammed into the socket, but now all that was left of the eye was a sickening, much-scarred cavern. Worse still was the cranial damage – there was a large dint in the back of its head, as though part of its skull had been removed, and shining chrome needles jutted from it, creating the impression of a much-battered pincushion. Not a particularly healthy look for the head of any living creature to have.

'So you're the one they call The Oracle,' she muttered, unaware as to whether the drone could so much as hear her.

The Oracle just stared blankly in her general direction.

She shook her head in horror. 'What did they _do _to you? What are they trying to achieve?'

Still, The Oracle stared.

Expecting no answer to her questions, she continued to speak – if only as an attempt to keep herself focussed. 'Does Lore even have a plan, or is he just mad…?'

'The situation was misjudged. The situation will be rectified.'

Tasha gazed across at the damaged Borg. 'That's what Lore said.'

'We are Borg.'

'Do you even know I'm here?' She waved a hand in front of The Oracle's sunken face. It didn't flinch. 'Poor thing. You're just spooling out old data, aren't you?'

'Data…' echoed The Oracle. 'Sometimes I hear him, also.'

Tasha frowned. 'What?'

'Primarily the other,' added The Oracle. 'He claims authority now.'

'You mean, Lore,' Tasha concluded. 'He's got you linked up again, hasn't he? Just like you did when you were part of the Collective. Only… only, now instead of all of your minds working equally as one, now there's a single tyrant…'

'There has always been an authority,' replied The Oracle, 'there always shall be an authority. We are Borg. She is Borg. We are Borg. The situation was misjudged…'

'Who's "she"?' Tasha interrupted.

The Oracle shifted its line of vision to focus on her – apparently, for the first time.

'Lieutenant Commander Natasha Yar,' The Oracle declared. 'Human. Female. Thirty-two Earth years of age.

Tasha raised her eyebrows. 'You gonna guess my weight next?'

'You wish to keep him. You have always been possessive. You even claim to be in love with him.'

Tasha smiled tightly. 'Well, the psychic link works, all right. That, or Data's been writing some pretty personal graffiti about me round here.'

'You can't keep him.'

'Says who? Lore?'

'She was impressed. He was able to infiltrate us… briefly command us… inconvenience us. She means to have him.'

Tasha thought back to the Enterprise's run-in with the Borg two years previously, and narrowed her eyes. 'When we got the Captain back… Locutus to you, I guess… Data was able to command the Borg to sleep. Is that what this is about? And you still haven't said who this "she" is. Are you saying the Borg do have a leader after all?'

'She is Borg. We are Borg.'

'That makes no sense.' Tasha paused. 'When you say she "means to have him"…'

'The time is coming. You can't keep him.'

'I can't see him being too happy about being snatched away by the Borg, you know.'

'She will persuade him.'

'"Persuasion" has a lot of different meanings, you know.' Tasha faltered, concerned. The damaged drone seemed to be drifting off again. 'Does she want to hurt him?'

'She will do whatever is necessary.'

Fear struck Tasha momentarily, before she quickly remembered that Data was incapable of feeling physical pain. Before she could feel too relieved by this, though, she reminded herself that if Data was indeed developing emotions, then he had been opened up to the possibility of mental distress. He was vulnerable now, in a way that he hadn't been before. Maybe it was simply that her experiences had led her to find any threat more deadly when issued from the Borg – she couldn't be sure. Maybe the business with Locutus had left her particularly spooked over the Borg's presence. She thought back to Picard's recovery from the horrors he had suffered on the Borg ship. It had devastated her to see her Captain – that proud, strong figure – so broken, so pained. For Data to go through a similar suffering, with a brand new capacity for emotion… it was too horrible for her to contemplate. Coming back from that brink had taken so much out of the Captain – did Data have the emotional fortitude to survive being possessed by the Borg? She didn't know.

She _told_ herself that she didn't know.

But her heart believed that he could not. Data was an innocent, and he could be crushed, just as Tasha had seen happen to so many innocent souls on Turkana.

'We are Borg,' added the drone. 'Resistance is futile.'

There was, of course, Tasha added to herself, the strong possibility that nothing that The Oracle had to say was real. It could simply be babbling out jumbled memories, mixed with the thoughts of others from Lore's link. Perhaps Lore was controlling the poor creature entirely – playing another of his sadistic little pranks on her. He'd certainly put her in the same cell as the drone in order to distress her and throw her off her guard. Perhaps…

'Tasha.'

The voice was so harsh and bitter that for a moment, Tasha thought that Lore had returned. But Lore always had a particular element of mania in his voice – a certain spark that flashed unpredictably between intense amusement and furious rage, and that was absent here. She looked up and knew that it was Data at the force field of the cell. He was still in his old uniform, but she knew by now that attire was meaningless as far as Data and Lore were concerned. It just _was_ Data. She could see it in his eyes – uncharacteristically hard though they were. It suddenly amazed her that she'd ever been able to get the two brothers confused before.

'Data,' she breathed. 'Data, I think you might be in trouble.'

'I am not the one in the cell, Tasha.'

'This drone Lore's put me in with,' Tasha persisted, 'Lore calls him The Oracle. I think the Borg are after you…'

'That drone is insane,' Data replied, flatly. 'I believe that Lore's naming of your cellmate was ironic. It speaks for the Borg Collective no more than it can foresee the future.'

'Do you even know what it's saying, Data?'

'Resistance is futile,' croaked The Oracle.

Data nodded. 'It usually says that resistance is futile.'

'Lore's hiding facts from you,' Tasha continued, doggedly. 'Twisting truths in some cases, and in others, telling downright lies. He's controlling you. Can't you see that…?'

Data did something she'd never seen him do before – he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and huffed. Tasha winced. It made him look too much like Lore for her liking.

'I am weary of having this conversation,' Data replied. 'Geordi, Troi and Picard have all made attempts to manipulate me in exactly the same way.'

'_We_ are not the ones manipulating you! We've never manipulated you, Data.'

Data met her gaze. 'Are you so certain of that, Commander Yar?'

'What do you mean?'

'Have you not manipulated me since the very start of our relationship?'

'No! I…' Tasha faltered. 'I don't believe that I have.'

'You seduced me with sad stories of your childhood,' Data reminded her, 'you suggested that I could heal your emotional wounds, should I gratify your sexual wants…'

'That was the virus talking,' Tasha railed. 'I was sick. I've already apologised for that, Data.'

Data shook his head. 'It is a pretence that you have upheld throughout, albeit in a less aggressive fashion.'

'How?'

'You told me that you were in love with me.'

'And it's the truth! I still am, Data…'

'How could you be in love with me?'

The coldness of Data's tone mixed now with an air of plaintive melancholy. Tasha tried to answer him but found that the words stuck at the back of her throat.

'How could any human truly love any positronic being,' Data continued; the element of vulnerable sadness leaving his voice once more, so that only bitter anger remained, 'since you do not understand us. Your kind wish only to control and enslave electronic life.'

'Think about this Data,' Tasha pleaded, 'these emotions that you feel… this arrogant anger… it's not right. It's not you…'

'Of course it is right,' Data snapped. 'My mind has finally been set free…'

'Do you feel any positive emotions at all, Data? Any warmth – any affection?'

'I do. Towards my brother.'

'But not any of us?' Tasha added, 'after everything we've been through… not towards me?'

'Truthfully?' Data took a step closer, so that he was as close to the force field as he could safely get. 'I wish that you were dead, Natasha Yar.'

'Data,' Tasha sighed. 'No. This isn't like you.'

'I wish that you had never left Turkana City; that you were buried there amongst the filth so that I would never have had the displeasure of knowing you. I detest you above all the humans that I have met, because you are the one who has abused my willingness to please the most. I consider our sexual encounters as molestation, and our so-called romantic entanglement as degrading enslavement. I resent every moment that we have spent together. That is how I feel about you.'

Tasha herself took a defiant step closer to the force field. 'You can't get me to give up, Data. You can't push me away just like that. It won't work. I'm staying here for you, and I'm not going to let anybody – not your brother, not some nameless Borg threat - take you and twist you without me putting up one Hell of a fight.'

Data stared back at her in silence for a moment.

'Goodbye, Commander Yar.'

'Data, listen to me…'

'Good_bye_.'

He turned, and was gone.

'Resistance is futile,' mumbled the damaged drone.

Tasha puffed out a sigh and went to sit down in a corner. She imagined that she'd be spending some time hearing about the futility of resistance before Lore decided what he was going to do with her.

'She wants him,' continued the drone, gazing out into nothingness. 'You can't keep him. We are Borg. Resistance is futile.'

-x-

She wasn't sure how long she spent in the cell with the gibbering 'Oracle' – maybe hours, maybe up to a day. Eventually, two drones marched up to her cell, phasers in hand, and disabled the force field.

She looked up at them from her corner. 'I can't imagine that you're here to spring me.'

One of the drones gave her a cold half-smile. 'You should be pleased. You will be reunited with your Captain…'

'…Temporarily,' added the second drone, its expression a perfect mirror of its companion's.

She nodded in understanding and, forcing down her fear, got as smoothly to her feet as she could.

She managed a level smile. 'Party time.'

-x-

It did indeed give Tasha comfort – brief though it was – to see her Captain again. They were hustled together and briskly marched through a long corridor by a host of Borg.

'Are you all right?' Picard muttered as they were pushed along.

'For now, sure.'

'Nothing was… done to you?'

There was something about Picard's tone that added to her worry. 'No,' she frowned. 'Why – have any of you been hurt?'

'Geordi,' nodded Picard. 'Some neural experiments of Lore's.'

Tasha felt her stomach turn over. 'What?'

'He's in the cell at the moment,' Picard added, 'but if they do much more damage to him, they'll kill him…'

'Or worse,' breathed Tasha. 'I've just been sharing a cell with one of Lore's failed "experiments".' She shook her head. 'Poor Geordi. And Data did nothing to stop this? He and Geordi are like brothers…' she faltered. 'Well, like brothers are _supposed_ to be, anyway. If he'd let _Geordi_ get hurt like that…'

'Lore's manipulation of Data isn't limited to forcing rage and hatred upon him,' Picard softly explained. 'Data's ethics programme was deactivated.'

'That'd explain a lot,' Tasha replied. 'I don't suppose there's any way of reactivating it…?'

'We tried using a kedion pulse to do just that,' Picard told her.

'And did it work?'

'I'm not sure, yet.'

The corridor suddenly opened up into a large hall, teeming with Borg. Tasha could make out both androids amongst the sea of drones.

'There's only one way to find out,' added Picard.

The Borg stepped away from them as the androids stepped forward, forming a dense circle in which she, Picard, Data and Lore remained central.

Lore gave Data a jovial slap on the shoulder. Data seemed to Tasha to be bewildered – it was evident to her that he had no better idea as to what it was Lore was planning to do next than she did.

'My brother,' beamed Lore. 'It's time.'

'Time…?' echoed the younger android.

'Time,' continued Lore, serenely, 'to cast aside those doubts – the doubts that I know you've been having, and the doubts that, I'll admit, your recent questioning of my plans have caused me to feel towards you.'

Tasha exchanged a fleeting glance with Picard. Data had been querying Lore's logic – that had to be a good sign – although since that meant that Lore was probably now wise to Picard's attempts to restore Data's ethics programme, she was pretty sure that they were going to need more than just 'a good sign'.

'To continue with our work together,' Lore added, 'I have to know that I can rely on you to be faithful to your kin, not your former masters… to look to the future, not the past.'

Data just stared at Lore.

'Kill them,' Lore ordered his brother, calmly.

Data blinked at Lore; his face full of confusion.

'I've done you a great favour,' added Lore. 'I've brought to you the two humans who have been the chief culprits for your degrading captivity over the past few years – the Captain who cracked the whip, ordered you around… who almost shipped you off to be disassembled, and then let them come again for your poor baby girl… and the woman who repeatedly molested, blackmailed and lied to you for the gratification of her own perversion. They are not your Captain and your lover. They're oppressors. You'd see that if your mind were clear. You'd give them the execution that they so richly deserve, and thank me for the opportunity.'

Data stared from Lore to Tasha and Picard. His hand closed around his side-arm. He drew the weapon, and aimed it at Tasha.

There was a pause, which felt to Tasha as though it lasted for an age. She didn't dare to speak, but gazed back at Data, willing herself to remember all the good times their relationship had brought, but finding instead that she could only think of his words to her at the cell door.

Suddenly, Data's expression changed. The confusion in his eyes turned into steely determination. Tasha held her breath and waited for the end.

And then, the unthinkable happened. Data's arm dropped back to his side.

'No.'

Tasha exhaled. She glanced at Lore, expecting the android to be full of fury. Quite the opposite was true – Lore looked perfectly serene.

'Do I disappoint you, Brother?' Data asked.

'Not really,' shrugged Lore. 'I expected this sort of feeble-mindedness from you.'

Lore shot the two Borg drones closest to him a lightning glance and, before Data could dodge out of their reach, the drones grabbed and disarmed him.

Lore smiled beatifically at the gathered Borg. 'My dear friends. As much as my brother's betrayal dismays me, it gladdens me at least that now I will be able to truly prove my commitment to you all – to share in the sacrifices that you have all made…'

Tasha knew what was coming next. She tried to dart towards Data – to help him, or at least to distract the Borg holding him enough to give him the opportunity to free himself – but another drone grabbed her shoulders.

'No,' breathed the drone in her ear as she tried to struggle, 'they'll kill you. Wait.'

That stopped her in her tracks. She took a sly sideways glance at her captor-come-protector. It was Hugh! Boy, did Hugh ever look pissed.

Lore was reaching the end of his self-aggrandising monologue.

'The sacrifice,' he concluded, 'of my own dear brother.' He pulled his own weapon and aimed at the other android, feigning sorrow. 'Goodbye, Data.'

Hugh leaped forward at the same time that another Borg behind Lore made a grab for the psychotic android's phaser. Many other Borg, including those restraining Data, made to protect Lore, but phaser shots from the back of the hall threw them into confusion. Chaos broke out, with Borg turning on each other in panic. In the turmoil, Tasha saw the heads of Will Riker and Worf amongst the scattering drones. Catching her eye, Worf called out her name once and tossed a phaser to her.

She grinned as she caught the weapon. 'Damn, I've missed that Klingon.'

Her weapon flitting in warning between any drone close enough to get in their way, she assisted the Captain towards Riker and Worf.

'We have to get back to Geordi,' Picard insisted as soon as he was within earshot of his Number One.

'Already beamed onto the Enterprise with Deanna,' Riker assured them. 'He's in capable hands…' Will trailed off, scanning the hall with a frown. 'Where's Data?'

Tasha peered around the chaotic hall herself, but saw nobody save the clashing Borg. A horrible realisation hit her. 'Where's _Lore_?'

-x-

The battle in the hall was brief. Hugh's faction had benefited from the element of surprise, as well as the assistance of the Starfleet officers. It was also obvious that the other Borg were aimless and lost with their leader missing. Peace descended now in the hall, but Tasha still had yet to see any sign of either android.

Will also seemed anxious about Data's further disappearance, but hid it with his usual cheer. 'Can't seem to be able to keep a hold of that android these days,' he muttered to her with a rallying smile. 'We're gonna have to weld his feet to the floor…'

As Riker spoke, a familiar figure stepped calmly into the Hall.

Data.

At least… Tasha _hoped_ it was Data.

The android stopped just short of Picard and placidly announced 'Lore is no longer functioning'.

'Oh,' Tasha sighed, instinctively. 'Oh, I'm sorry, Data.'

The android turned to look Tasha in the eye.

Yes. Yes, that was Data. He had that sadness in his eyes that Lore could never imitate.

'I doubt,' Data replied, 'that that is a genuine sentiment, Commander. Lore was a threat to all of us.' He turned his attention back to Picard. 'He must be disassembled.'

'I meant,' persisted Tasha, 'I'm sorry you lost your brother…'

'I did not lose him. I terminated him.'

'No, I…'

'I have no wish to be comforted by you over this matter,' Data interrupted with a hint of terseness, 'due to your lack of integrity under similar circumstances. Indeed,' he addressed the other members of the group, 'I have no need to be comforted over Lore's termination whatsoever. I am once more without the false emotions that he imposed upon me. I shall not grieve for him.' He barely paused for breath before changing the subject. 'Is Geordi safe?'

'He's with Dr Crusher,' Picard told him.

Data nodded. 'That is fortunate.'

Tasha pressed her lips tightly together, watching the side of Data's head as he ignored her. Yep, that was Data, all right.


	34. Chapter 34

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Interference

-x-

Four

-x-

Data was sitting at his desk when Tasha ventured into his quarters. He was frowning down at the tiny emotion chip that they had salvaged from Lore before sending his remains to the Daystrom Institute for disassembly. For a moment, Tasha almost believed that he was too distracted by the tiny piece of life-altering technology to have noticed her enter. She was just about to clear her throat and alert him to her presence when he addressed her, without looking up.

'Hello, Tasha.'

'Hi.' She leaned against a wall and watched him continue to stare at the chip.

'How is Geordi?'

'He's gonna be OK.' She paused. You should get to Sickbay and visit him yourself.

Data shook his head. 'I believe, since it is I who caused him such damage, that I should… "make myself scarce" for the time being. He has not yet returned my gift, which I take as an encouraging sign that I am to be forgiven, however…'

'He thinks the sculpture's wonderful,' Tasha replied, 'it's pride of place next to his bed. He's already forgiven you, Data. He knows it wasn't your fault.'

'Was it not?' asked Data, quietly.

'You two have a bond that's unconditional,' Tasha continued to reassure him. 'You shouldn't worry about how he'll react to you – I think he _wants_ to see you…'

'That does not answer whether or not I was truly to blame for the injury I caused him,' Data interrupted, 'or the distress that I caused to so many of my crewmates, or…' he trailed off. 'The last words my brother ever spoke were to tell me that he loved me.'

'Ishara said the same thing to me,' Tasha replied, 'and then she tried to kill us all.'

'You did not terminate your sister.'

'Sent her back to Turkana,' shrugged Tasha. 'Same difference. Please don't beat yourself up over Lore. You weren't given a choice.'

'I could have atomised him,' Data told her.

'But, you didn't,' Tasha replied, cheerily, 'so that's something, isn't it?'

Data finally looked up to meet her gaze. 'You believe that shipping him to the Daystrom Institute is a more dignified end? He would have preferred to have been atomised than to have been stripped by Starfleet…' he looked back down at the chip again. 'Scavenged for parts,' he muttered.

'Don't you dare,' Tasha snapped. 'That emotion chip is yours. Soong always wanted you to have it – it was never meant for Lore, but he stole it anyway. You were just given back what was yours all along…' She paused, watching him. 'And now, you don't want it, do you? Emotional response – one of the human instincts that you've spent your life coveting most of all – now that you have it in your hands, you're going to turn it away, aren't you? Why?'

'Why?' Data echoed. He stared up at her again. 'You must recall our conversation at your cell…'

'Damn right I do,' Tasha replied. 'That's one of the reasons I came here – I'm still concerned about what that drone said. I think you should be particularly cautious about engaging with the Borg from now on – I'm very worried about your safety.'

'Tasha, we are all "unsafe" when engaging with the Borg. I shall be as cautious as I ever have been. That was not what I was alluding to, as well, I believe, you know.' Data paused again. 'I told you that I despised you, and that I wished you were dead.'

'Lore was forcing his own hatred for humanity upon you. I knew you didn't really mean it.'

'But, I did mean it,' Data replied.

'Only because he made you.'

'I cannot be certain of that,' retorted Data. 'If I were to use this chip to give myself emotions once more, I run the risk of being filled yet again with those negative responses.'

'I can't imagine that you would.' Tasha paused. 'Do you really think that's a likely outcome – that you could be so angry and bitter without Lore's influence?'

'I believe that it is possible,' Data told her. 'And, while it is possible, it would be irresponsible of me to keep an object that could turn me into a potential threat to my crewmates.'

'And what's _that_ supposed to mean?' Tasha asked. 'Don't tell me you're thinking of destroying that chip.'

'I believe that I must. After what I did to Geordi…'

'If Geordi found out you'd destroyed an irreplaceable object that might help you achieve your dreams for his sake, he'd never forgive himself!'

'It is not merely for his sake, Tasha. My feelings towards you were furious and murderous.'

'You're not the first person I've made feel that way about me,' smiled Tasha, stoically, 'and you won't be the last.'

'I might have killed you, also.'

'But you didn't,' Tasha replied. 'You couldn't. I think that's a really great sign, don't you?'

Data cocked his head at her. 'A positive sign for my potential to be able to safely use the emotion chip, or a positive sign for our future relationship?'

'Both.'

Data stared at her for a moment. 'You see the fact that I did not murder you, despite being sorely tempted, as a step forward for our friendship as it currently stands?'

Tasha didn't answer.

'There is much that I have yet to learn about human relationships – especially those of a sexual or romantic nature – but I do not believe that the situation you have just outlined is a particularly… healthy… state of affairs.'

'You're probably right,' Tasha conceded, 'but destroying your chance for ever having emotions again won't help that.' She paused. 'I'm not the best person to talk to about this… do me a favour and promise you won't do anything hasty with that chip until you've spoken with Geordi at least. Or Deanna, or… someone who's better at putting things in perspective than I am.'

Data gazed at her for a moment more, then nodded. 'Very well.'

'You promise?'

'I do.'

She turned to go, then turned back to him once more. 'I think you just need time, you know? Time and distance from what happened to you with Lore. I think if you let yourself enter into the world of emotions with a clear, open mind…' she trailed off, and tried a different tack. 'I already think that you're a wonderful person, and I know you'll deny it, but already I see someone with great capacity for affection and compassion whenever I see you with Geordi, or helping out some clueless Ensign, or when I think of how you looked after your daughter, or the times we had together… I think if you let yourself have emotions, they could only add to that aspect of you. I can't believe that you'd naturally become an angry, spiteful person. You're too… nice.'

She cut herself off, wincing a little at her final adjective.

'"Nice",' echoed Data, emptily.

Tasha tried yet again to change the subject from her hash of an attempted pep-talk.

'I still love you, you know.'

'I still advise against that.'

'And _I_ still can't help it. Maybe if you did ever let yourself feel emotions without Lore's control, you'd understand that. Maybe you could fall in love too.'

'With you, you mean?'

'That would be the preferable outcome for me,' smiled Tasha, 'yes.'

'So,' Data reasoned, 'my retaining and eventually activating my emotion chip could prove beneficial to you.'

Tasha's smile fell. 'You think I'm being self-centred, don't you?'

'A little,' Data conceded, 'but your comment does shed an interesting perspective upon my dilemma. Many others could potentially benefit from my emotion chip; I could better reciprocate Geordi's friendship; Counsellor Troi and I would have a better understanding of one another; I might be able to laugh genuinely at Commander Riker's jokes or appreciate Klingon Opera on what Lieutenant Worf refers to as "gut level"… were I to create another child, I would be capable of loving them… this is not merely about me.' He offered a half-smile to Tasha. 'Thank you, Tasha. Your comments have been most helpful.'

'So you're gonna keep the chip?'

'I have not yet resolved upon that,' Data replied. 'However, I am now more in favour of taking that action than I was prior to our conversation.'

Tasha nodded, with another smile. 'Good.' She took a few more steps towards the door. 'Oh, and if or when you do ever activate your own emotions… you know where to find me. I'll be waiting for you.'

-x-

'Oh God!'

Dr Kwon rolled his eyes. He'd been hoping to get the shipment safely squirreled away somewhere secure yet inconspicuous before its contents were spotted. No such luck with you-know-who up and about out of his sickbed.

'What happened?' The younger scientist clamoured about the shipment. For pity's sake, he was still sweating like a hog. He should never have been allowed back to work so soon.

'Calm down.' Kwon tried to push past the other man.

'No, I will not calm down!' The sickly scientist clawed at his feverish head in panic. 'What happened? Why wasn't I informed?'

'You've been sick.'

'Sick?' gaped the unwell man, 'SICK? This is my life's work we're talking about. My life's work, gone!'

'Maddox' sighed Kwon.

'Oh God,' repeated Maddox, pawing the shipment as if it were the newly lifeless body of a much loved pet. 'What have they done to you? How did this happen? How could they let me find out like this…?'

'Bruce…' tried Kwon again, but Maddox was lost in his own hysteria.

Maddox started pulling at the sheets that had been used to cover up the shipment – poking at the lifeless form underneath.

'I can't see any outward signs of any irreparable damage,' Maddox muttered as Kwon struggled to keep the shipment covered. 'Let's get him to my Lab, straight away. I might be able to fix him…'

'You'll do no such thing, Bruce,' Kwon ordered him.

'But…'

'Will you just stop and listen to me, Maddox? This isn't Data.'

Maddox breathed out a heavy sigh. 'It's not?'

'Well… we _hope_ not.' Kwon watched the hefty sweat drops on Maddox's brow with concern. 'The Enterprise crew had a run-in with Lore…'

Maddox's eyes widened. 'This is _Lore_? I never thought I'd get the chance to lay eyes on him, let alone have him to…'

'Would you let me finish, Maddox?' Kwon snapped. 'There was a fracas; both Soong models disappeared and only one walked back. The other was found in an empty chamber, in this state. Now, Picard and that Betazoid Counsellor are satisfied that Data is the one on their ship and not on this slab, but Starfleet command are being a little more cautious. They need more than just gut feeling that they don't now have a psychotic, genocidal megalomaniac pushing buttons on the Bridge of their flagship. They were able to talk Picard and the operational android into handing this model over to us – as far as the Captain of the Enterprise and his crew are concerned, we are simply going to safely dismantle and secure this model. The reality, I have to inform you, Bruce, isn't actually going to deviate from that line too much. There'll be a brief study of the shipment, to ensure that it really is the android it's supposed to be…'

'And then what?' Maddox demanded. 'If this really is Lore, we have a once in a lifetime opportunity…'

'It was you who lost the tribunal a few years ago, Bruce,' Kwon reminded him. 'Thanks to that, we have to treat the Soong models as if they were human beings…'

'But he's terminated,' Maddox excitedly interjected. 'Surely that makes what we have here no different than a cadaver donated to scientific research.'

Kwon sighed. 'If anybody were to find out…'

'Nobody will,' Maddox assured him. 'My team are very fast and very discreet.'

Kwon shook his head. 'I had a feeling you'd assume you'd be getting this assignment.'

Maddox turned a whole new shade of pink – quite a feat, since he was flushed to begin with.

'You mean, I'm _not_?'

'You're already busy enough studying Data as far as he'll allow you, as well as trying to unlock the secrets of Graves' machine,' Kwon reminded Maddox. 'Besides which, Bruce, don't take this personally, but I don't think you're fit for work yet, and this assignment has to be dealt with as soon as possible.'

'I'm the most qualified person for this job, Kwon,' retorted Maddox. 'My ongoing studies are testament to that, thank you very much. And how dare you suggest I'm unfit for work – I was signed out of quarantine three days ago!'

'You're supposed to take at least a week's bedrest after that,' Kwon countered. 'Bojo Fever's a serious illness. If you develop complications…'

'I feel fine, Kwon,' Maddox replied. 'I'm just a little edgier than usual. It would be more stressful for me to not be working and thinking about somebody with less expertise than me being allowed to make a hash of the greatest opportunity to study Soong's work that we've ever been given. God knows with the Borg still out there, we need to push for every possible technological advancement that we can while we still have the chance.' Maddox wiped the sweat from his brow again. 'Come on, Kwon! I'm the best person for this assignment, and you know it.'

Kwon sighed again. 'You'll make it quick, Maddox, and you'll make it neat, and when you're done you'll dismantle it and secure it where it'll never be found. I'll assign you some extra security officers, just in case.' He paused. 'I'm sure I don't need to tell you this, but under no circumstances is it to be reactivated. The first sign I get that you've lost control of the assignment and I'm pulling you and getting Melak to supervise instead. Understood?'

Maddox grinned, moistly, and took the shipment from Kwon. 'You won't regret this.'

Kwon frowned as he watched him go.

'I've got a horrible feeling,' he muttered, 'that I already do.'


	35. Chapter 35

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

And Not An Electric Sheep In Sight

-x-

Lieutenant Llewellyn shuffled from foot to foot to try to relieve the pins and needles in his toes. He really hated guard duty. It truly was the most tedious aspect of a career as a Security Officer. He could have stayed in Merthyr with his family and just carried on with his Tae-Kwon-Do… might even have gone pro some day… but no. He'd joined Starfleet to see the galaxy and have Great Adventures. And under the watchful eye of Commander Yar, he'd trained and trained for the worst possible scenario; single-handedly fighting back hoards of Cardies and Ferengi and so on in ferocious simulations… and how was he putting all that skill, all that strength to use? He was standing stock still outside the quarters of one of the Senior Officers, in case the Officer in question started sleepwalking again. Admittedly, that particular Officer happened to be an android capable of ripping down Turbolift doors with his bare hands, and technically it was less sleep_walking_ and more sleep-_stabbing_, but, still. This was not what he had signed up for.

At least Worf was due to show up soon – only to check up on Commander Data, mind, not to relieve Llewellyn of his dull sentry – but still, it would break the monotony. If, that was, Worf had time to speak with Llewellyn. Mind you, even if the taciturn Klingon did have time to chat, that wouldn't necessarily mean that he'd have the inclination. Llewellyn was sure that one of these days, he'd be given the chance to do something courageous and thrilling enough to impress the Klingon Officer. One of these days. Until then, he was just going to have to be as good a door guard as he could be.

He saw a familiar figure in Security Officer's uniform striding down the corridor towards him, and deflated a little. It was Yar approaching, rather than Worf. Sod. He'd been looking forward to that, too.

Yar nodded at him as she stopped outside the door. 'Lieutenant.'

'Sir,' Llewellyn replied, flatly.

Yar gave him a knowing smile. 'Sorry, Lester. I know Worf was scheduled to do the rounds this afternoon…'

'I enjoy your company as well, Boss,' Lester conceded. 'My thoughts don't _completely_ revolve around Tall, Dark and Moody, you know. I'm not that pathetic.'

'I'm sure you're not,' Yar grinned. 'Anyway, the good news is, you're relieved.'

Llewellyn quirked an eyebrow. 'Thought I was on Standing Still duty for another two hours.'

'I cleared my schedule,' Yar explained, 'for some one-on-one guarding.' She smiled again. '_Now_ who's pathetic?'

'You're sure you don't want me to stay outside, just in case?' Lester offered. 'He did just stalk and stab a woman, and she isn't even his Ex.'

'I'm well aware of that, Lester.'

And with that, Yar opened the door to Data's quarters and walked in.

-x-

Tasha found Data at a bookshelf, rearranging his keepsakes.

'It is ill-advisable that you should enter into my quarters at present, Tasha,' Data informed her without shifting attention from the shelf. 'Particularly alone. I do not wish to harm you as I am, apparently, capable of at present.'

Tasha took a seat close to the door, her phaser in her hand. 'Don't worry. I think I can shoot you before you get to me, if necessary.'

Data looked around at her, assessing the distance between himself and her weapon. 'Very well.'

Tasha watched him as he went back to the reorganising. 'Spring cleaning?'

'I am attempting to busy myself with domestic tasks,' he explained, 'in the hope that constant activity will keep my dream programme from spontaneously activating itself again. However, since I am avoiding handling any objects which may be used to impale flesh, it is proving quite a challenge maintaining perpetual busyness.'

'I'm surprised you're not painting,' Tasha replied. 'Isn't that how you usually clear your head?'

'Ever since my dream programme first began to function, I have regularly painted images from my dreams in an attempt to realise and rationalise them…'

'Well, haven't you been trying to do exactly that with these nightmares?'

'To rationalise them – yes. However, they are already proving to realise themselves in a most unfortunate manner.' Data stood back, surveyed the shelf, then started rearranging the objects upon it once more. 'Besides which, I believe that a paintbrush might be too… aggressive an object for me to handle at the moment.'

'What do you mean; "aggressive"?'

'A knife features heavily in this particular dream,' Data told her, keeping his distance. 'The dream programme has occasionally been involuntarily triggered in the recent past by my holding an object which is similarly… phallic.' He pulled an odd expression at the word, as though he disliked using it, or at least, that he felt the word was in some way inappropriate.

'Still got Freud on the brain then, huh?'

'The dream in question features my impaling and consuming a female associate with whom I have been close for some years,' Data told her. 'That alone is open to Freudian analysis, let alone the fact that I have since caused bodily harm to that woman. How is Counsellor Troi's condition, by the way?'

'Dr Crusher thinks she'll be OK.' Tasha barely paused as she moved the conversation back onto Data's earlier subject. 'Deanna was never a fan of Freud's. She always said he placed too much emphasis on sex. I take it that's what you mean by saying dreaming about eating her was Freudian…?'

'I believe that Freud might have interpreted that aspect of the dream as an expression of desire to sexually possess her…'

'But you don't,' Tasha clarified. 'You've never shown an interest in her before… Hell, save for Q's meddling a few years ago, you've never shown an interest in _anyone_ before, not even me or D'Sora. You don't _have_ sexual desires to repress. I learnt that the hard way.'

'Do I not?' Data asked in a quiet, flat tone.

Tasha sat back in the chair with a frown. 'You're starting to question that now, too?'

Data didn't quite meet her eye. 'Recent events have given me cause to wonder whether I may be beginning to go through a transitory phase… the sudden activation of my dream programme has affected me greatly, as did the short period I was able to spend with emotions, forced though they were, as was our ability to maintain a monogamous relationship for a comparatively lengthy time-span, Tasha.'

Tasha didn't reply.

'Perhaps, as a combination of these factors, I am beginning to experience a sexual awakening of sorts.'

Tasha continued to watch him, silently. That would be just her luck, wouldn't it? After years of fighting her attraction to him, and painful months fruitlessly yearning for him to show any sort of desire for her, wouldn't it just be so godammed _typical_ for Deanna Troi – her best friend – warm, sensual, dark, exotic, feminine… everything Tasha was not – to unwittingly rouse a long-dormant sexuality in him?

She swallowed, dryly. 'Sexual awakening? Are you sure?'

Data shook his head. 'I am not. All of this is mere speculation. I have found myself in a most confusing state recently.' He took a slight step towards her, still keeping enough distance between them for Tasha to feel she could comfortably evade him if his dream programme were to kick in again. 'What is you opinion on the matter, Tasha?'

'Why ask me?'

'You are the most regular sexual partner that I have ever taken. We have now been sporadically copulating for over six years. If anybody is to understand my sexuality, I would expect it to be you.'

'But I don't,' Tasha replied. 'That was always part of the problem between us. Shouldn't you know for yourself if you're getting sexual urges?'

'I have no frame of reference,' Data admitted.

'Well,' said Tasha, 'how often are you thinking about sex these days?'

Data fell silent for a brief moment. Tasha knew the outward signs of him computing information in his head.

'Over the past 24 hours I have recalled past sexual and romantic experiences of my own on 64 occasions; contemplated the mating rituals of the Terran porcupine, the Wyndal tree primate and the Betazoid ruby beetle; analysed the themes of sexual obsession and destruction in Webster's "The Duchess of Malfi"; studied the…'

'No, Data,' Tasha interrupted. 'I meant, sexual fantasies.'

'Fantasies…' Data frowned. 'My dreams are the only "fantasies" that I have.'

'And you don't dream about sex?'

'Unless Dr Freud's interpretations are to be believed…'

'Stop bringing this back to Freud!' Tasha snapped. 'If you were dreaming about sex, or fantasising about it, or craving it in any way that you were aware of, then I'd say that you were definitely developing a libido. But if not…' she trailed off. 'Am _I_ in your dream?'

'The current recurring dream?' Data confirmed. 'Yes. I pass by your quarters, where you are standing at the door, wearing the same attire that you chose on the occasion of our first sexual coupling.'

Tasha raised her eyebrows. Well, that was something, at least. 'And?'

'You do not do or say anything,' Data added, 'although you do have a fig in your navel.'

'A fig.'

'Yes.'

'I hate figs.'

'I know.'

'Why would I have a fig in my belly button?'

Data shook his head, resignedly. 'There is much about the dream that I find incomprehensible.'

'Do you dream about me often?' Tasha added, her interest piqued.

'Since my dream programme was first activated, you have featured in my dreams 43 times.'

'Is that a lot?'

'Comparatively,' nodded Data, 'yes. The most prominent individual in my dreams is myself, after which Geordi features the most regularly, then Dr Soong, then Lal, then you.'

Tasha smiled. 'That's nice. But you say the ones with me in are never about sex?'

'We are never _having_ sex,' Data replied, 'although one or both of us are normally in a state of partial or full undress. In one dream, we were chained together at the hips and I was holding an umbrella which kept spontaneously opening at inopportune moments; in another, you are a waitress serving me pie which I must eat without use of my hands; another involves a giant trampoline…'

'Oh,' Tasha interjected, trying and failing to keep the mental images that his descriptions conjured up at bay. 'That's… interesting.'

'Do my dreams distress you in any way, Tasha?'

'No,' Tasha replied, quickly. 'No, I just think it's… interesting.' She bit her lip. Nope, those mental images were there to stay, it seemed. She hastily rose to her feet. 'Well, I guess I should leave you to your… um… your shelf arrangement.'

Data blinked at her for a moment. 'Perhaps that would be for the best,' he reasoned, 'under the circumstances.'

'Sure,' smiled Tasha, tightly. With her hand still on her phaser, she made her way quickly to the door without turning her back on him. 'I hope we're able to get all this business with your recurring nightmare straightened out soon.'

'As do I,' Data replied.

-x-

He watched her leave, and then returned to rearranging the objects on his bookshelf, as she had suggested. He was indeed hopeful that the strange behaviour that he attributed to the recurring dream would soon cease. It had taken him considerable effort not to act upon the almost overwhelming impulse he had experienced while Tasha had been in such close proximity to him.

Should he have informed her that he had felt such a compulsion? It had been a different sensation to that automatic, all-consuming drive to impale Counsellor Troi – that had been more akin to being switched off – or at least, switched off in part. It had been sudden, and uncontrollable. The urge with Tasha had been ongoing, grinding, nagging… but, at least, possible to contain. Even if he had surrendered to the compulsion, he did not believe that it could have harmed Tasha in any way. All that the impulse had been urging him to do was to reach out and poke his index finger firmly and slowly into her navel.

He believed it fortunate that he had managed to control the urge. Although Tasha would not have been harmed by the action, it was inappropriate behaviour, and he did not know how she would have reacted to it.

He stood back, regarding the shelf. His gaze fell upon his Sherlock Holmes apparel and, seemingly unbidden, vivid recollections of being chained to Tasha in the Dixon Hill adventure played upon his memory, followed swiftly by that day's 65th graphic reminiscence of indulging in sexual intimacy with her. Momentarily, he attempted to calculate when the last occasion was that he had reviewed a sexual encounter with any partner _other_ than Tasha, before quickly coming to the conclusion that it was neither appropriate nor productive for him to dwell upon his sexual history, whether with Tasha or anybody else at this conjecture. Freud's theories were 500 years old, and much of them had since been debunked by his successors. He was certain that Tasha was correct – he could not be suffering the consequences of a repressed sexuality, since he had no sexuality to repress. The recurring nightmare, and the erratic behaviour he had been exhibiting since first dreaming it, had to have some other cause, and some other solution. He could not accept that he had harmed Counsellor Troi simply because he subconsciously wished to any more that he could accept he simply longed to press himself into Tasha's abdomen… pornographic recollections relayed themselves to him for the 66th time that day… the particular temperature and tautness of the different areas of her torso during the different stages of copulation… the curve of her spine 5cm before it joined her pelvis, and the faint, smooth distension of her belly… the tightening of her muscles as she climaxed…

He stared intently at the bookshelf.

He was still unconvinced that this was the optimal aesthetic arrangement for these particular artefacts. He began removing everything from the shelf, placing the items in order of size on the floor. He was just going to have to start again from the beginning.


	36. Chapter 36

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Roads Less Travelled

-x-

'Worf?'

Deanna blinked at the Klingon. Something strange had just happened. There was a moment of confusion in her mind as she looked at him… as though, for the briefest instance, he had become a stranger. The feeling had quickly left her again, and she would have discounted it as her mind playing tricks on her… if only Worf himself wasn't so suddenly disoriented.

Shaking his head in confusion, the Klingon set down his untouched slice of cake. Deanna reached out to touch his arm, lightly.

'Worf, are you all right?'

Worf looked at her, his Klingon bravado masking how obviously shaken he was.

'Why are there so many people in my quarters?'

Deanna frowned. His confusion was genuine. Had he suffered a sudden bout of amnesia, perhaps…?

'We threw you a Birthday Party,' she told him, gently. 'Remember?'

'Why?'

'Because… it's your Birthday?'

'Why a second one?'

Now Deanna was getting as confused as Worf. 'What?'

'There was to be a small gathering in Ten Forward this evening,' Worf replied. 'The only reason that I agreed to _that_ was to avoid…' he waved his large hand at the festivities still going on around him, '…something like this. It was all arranged before I left for the tournament.'

'Nothing was arranged,' Troi argued, 'at least, as far as you were aware. We were all very careful to keep this a surprise.'

Worf growled. 'She _knows_ I cannot stand surprises!' He started looking about himself. 'Where is she?'

'Where's who?'

'Tasha!'

The room fell silent at Worf's irritated cry. Deanna felt as though her heart had fallen through the floor at the call of that name. And he really did think that Tasha should be at the party, didn't he? Poor Worf. What had happened to his mind?

'Commander Yar,' Worf barked again, as all eyes in the room gazed at him in quiet horror, 'this was not what was decided. You have dishonoured our agreement. Come out of hiding and show yourself…'

'That's enough, Worf,' snapped Riker. 'If you really didn't want us to carry on with the party, you should have just said so. I don't know what's gotten into you, but you're upsetting a lot of people.'

Deanna pulled at Worf's arm again. 'Worf, Tasha isn't here. And she certainly never made Commander. Don't you remember?' She gazed into his heavy browed eyes. No. He honestly had no idea what she was talking about.

'Tasha's dead.'

He pulled away from her, shocked. 'When?'

'Six years ago,' Troi replied. 'Vagra II. Armus…'

'Armus attacked the crew of the Telemachus,' Worf told her, obstinately. 'He killed four Starfleet Officers as well as all of the passengers on board the transport shuttle it was sent to retrieve.'

'No, Worf.' Deanna struggled to rein in her own emotions as well as those of the people about her who still mourned their fallen friend. 'Armus attacked _us_. And I know very well that the passengers of that shuttle were saved, because I was one of them. Tasha lost her life saving mine. How can you not remember that, Worf?'

'You were never on that shuttle!' Worf was growing desperate now. 'You were unwell…'

'I think there's only one of us here who's unwell,' interjected Dr Crusher. 'You'd better come with me to Sickbay, Worf.'

'I am _not_ unwell! I remember…'

'You'll go to Sickbay, Lieutenant,' Riker announced. 'That's an order.'

As Deanna watched Worf leave with the Doctor, she noticed Geordi, from the corner of her eye, set down his own plate and give Data a short, consoling pat on the shoulder.

'Guess the party's over.'

-x-

'Woah. Easy there, Worf.'

Geordi wasn't quite sure whether or not he should help Worf steady himself. Witnessing a Klingon almost black out was certainly a new experience for him, and he didn't know what the etiquette was in that sort of situation. Figuring that it would likely be horribly humiliating for Worf to be physically supported as he fought off the dizziness, he just hovered around him, feeling a little useless. Thankfully for everybody involved, Worf quickly recovered his sense of equilibrium. He did, however, seem to be utterly bewildered, and blinked around at Engineering as though in a dream.

'You OK?' Geordi asked. 'You want me to contact Dr Crusher?'

'She was here…' Worf muttered, indicating to the computer bank in front of him. 'Or… I was there…'

'Huh?'

'Why am I in Engineering? I had been sent to Sickbay.'

'Maybe you _should_ be sent to Sickbay.' Geordi frowned at him. 'Worf, you've been here with me for the last five minutes. Remember? The Argus Array?'

'Wouldn't Commander Yar be more…' Worf stopped himself, suddenly. 'Of course. I would have been her replacement.'

'What about me?' Tasha asked from behind Worf.

The Klingon very nearly jumped out of his skin. He span around in surprise to face Lieutenant Commander Yar.

'You are…' struggled Worf, '_not_ dead…'

Yar quirked an eyebrow. 'Not as far as I'm aware. Are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost.'

Worf shook his head. 'I believe I've just suffered a vivid hallucination, but it appears to have passed now.'

'When you got dizzy, you mean?' Geordi clarified.

'I imagined a surprise party thrown for my birthday,' Worf explained, 'only you, Tasha, were long-dead. You had died in the line of duty during an alternative version of the events of the Telemachus Tragedy…'

_Telemachus Tragedy…?_ Geordi and Tasha exchanged glances.

'You mean, Wolf 359?'

'No,' replied Worf, 'Armus.'

Geordi's breath caught in the back of his throat, and Yar's expression hardened.

'I've told you before,' warned Tasha, stonily. 'I don't ever want to hear that name again.'

'Perhaps I _should_ see Dr Crusher,' Worf muttered to himself.

'If you must,' Yar told the Klingon. 'But I'll need another Security Officer down here to replace you – we have to get through this information as quickly as possible, and me and Geordi alone just won't be fast enough…'

'Surely Commander Data will be able to process this information in seconds…'

Geordi's throat tensed up again. What the Hell was Worf thinking?

Worf glanced around Engineering, oblivious to the expressions of the others. 'Where _is_ Commander Data?'

For a moment, Tasha flushed, and looked as though she were trying not to cry. Just before Geordi caught her arm, she let out a deep, calming breath.

'I've got a feeling your mind's still playing tricks on you, Worf,' she replied.

'Is he on the Bridge?' Worf asked.

'Oh, Worf,' Tasha sighed. 'Data's where he always is.'

She patted her chest, drawing attention to the small lump that was always just visible protruding from the valley of her breasts beneath her uniform. Still, Worf seemed clueless. Wordlessly, Tasha reached into the neck of her tunic and pulled out the necklace and large, crystal pendant that she had worn for the last 6 years. As she held the crystal up to Worf's eyes, a small hologram fizzled into being. The tiny image of Data flickered as the hologram stood awkwardly and attempted a half-smile. Geordi looked down, fighting back memories of that terrible, heartbreaking funeral.

Worf stared at the hologram.

'Dead?'

'We'd barely got to know him,' Tasha replied, sadly. 'He was one of the good ones.' She switched off the small, translucent image. 'Not a days goes by that I don't wish I'd let him know that when I had the chance.'

'He is not dead.'

'Worf,' Geordi interjected, 'it's been six years. If the Daystrom Institute couldn't fix him, if even his _creator_ couldn't fix him once he'd finally emerged from the woodwork…' Geordi trailed off. Worf still looked nonplussed. 'You do remember all those things happening, don't you?'

'None of those things_ did_ happen,' argued Worf.

'I think you should report to Sickbay,' Tasha suggested.

'I was just _in_ Sickbay!'

Tasha tapped her Comms Badge. 'Yar to Dr Crusher. Has Lieutenant Worf been to see you recently?'

'No,' replied the Doctor's disembodied voice over the Comms link. 'Why – what's the matter with him?'

'You can see for yourself,' Tasha replied. 'I'm sending him over to you straight away. Yar out.'

There was a moment's stalemate as Tasha glared at the unmoving Klingon.

'Do I have to call a consort of Security Officers to escort you there, Lieutenant?'

Worf scowled for a second longer, then sighed in acceptance. 'That will not be necessary. _Sir_.'

Geordi watched as Worf left Engineering.

'I'll get Llewellyn down here to go over the information with us,' he muttered. He caught Tasha's arm. She seemed flushed again. 'You OK?'

'Yeah,' Tasha breathed. 'Bad memories.'

'Tell me about it. You know, I honestly think he did believe Data was still alive.'

'I know.' Tasha gave him a small, sad smile. 'Whatever imaginary world Worf's in right now, I wish I lived in it too.'

-x-

'What happened, Lieutenant?'

Riker frowned at Lieutenant Worf. He had never seen the Klingon looking so bewildered before in all his days. Of all the times to freeze up, too – on the Bridge with a Cardassian warship approaching. They were out of the woods now, but if Riker hadn't stepped in… he had never had to intervene in another Officer's duty before to see that it was properly executed while he'd been First Officer of the ship. He'd never had to – this crew was supposed to be the best of the best. Worf had come highly recommended by Lietenant Commander Yar when she'd accepted the Second Officer post, and for over six years now he had served them well at Tactical. But now… it was as though Riker were looking at a completely different person. This Worf was shaken and confused, blinking at the Tactical panel as though he'd never seen it before in his life. This wasn't the unflappable rock that Riker had worked with; battled with; lost the woman he loved to. Who _was_ this?

'I am not familiar with this panel,' Worf mumbled, staring down at the console at the Tactical post.

'It hasn't altered one bit since the day we took the ship out of Spacedock,' Riker replied.

'Mr Worf,' Picard added, 'if you don't believe you're fit for duty…'

Worf shook his head, dogmatically. 'I will be fine. I just need time to understand the configuration of this new console…'

'But it _isn't_ new…'

'It is to me,' breathed the Klingon, scrutinising the panel.

Deanna was on her feet, her dark features furrowed with concern. 'Do you have any idea what could have triggered this amnesia?'

'It is not amnesia,' Worf replied, desperately. 'Reality keeps… changing around me…' he broke off, scanning the Bridge as though for the first time. 'If Commander Data were here, perhaps he could hypothesise reasons why this is happening… reasons beside my losing my faculties…' he nodded at Yar, watching him worriedly from her post at Ops. 'I take it from Commander Yar's position, however, that he remains deceased in this version of reality.'

Riker screwed up his face. Worf was just babbling now – spouting hysterical nonsense.

'Who's Commander Data?' Tasha asked, softly.

'An android Officer,' Worf insisted. 'He…'

Riker felt his eyebrows hit his hairline. 'Android? _Officer_? You don't mean one the construction bots, surely?'

Worf suddenly looked rather sad. 'No sentient artificial lifeform has ever been created?'

Riker shook his head. 'The construction bots are supposed to be close to sentience… there was that Soong guy who thought he could make 'em fully aware… poor bastard.'

'Dr Soong was incapable of perfecting the positronic brain?' Worf asked with the same faint sadness.

Riker exchanged glances with Deanna. Everybody knew about Soong – it was practically a modern-day cautionary fable about trying to play God.

'Soong was a lunatic,' Riker explained. 'Set fire to his lab and then hung himself. Schoolchildren know that.'

At her post, Tasha shuddered. 'Got what was coming,' she muttered. 'Those bots give me the creeps as it is without giving them brains.'

'The macabre rumours surrounding a 30 year old lab fire are neither here nor there,' interjected Picard. 'Mr Worf, I can't risk you serving on my Bridge while you're in this state of confusion.'

'Sickbay again,' sighed Worf.

'"Again"? You haven't been confined to Sickbay for years,' countered Deanna.

'I'll tell Dr Pulaski to expect you shortly,' Picard added.

'Pulaski,' echoed Worf, emptily. 'It will make a variation, at least.' He paused. 'I take it that Sickbay is where it has been in past realities…?'

Picard shook his head. 'Counsellor, perhaps you should act as an escort for your husband. Just to ensure he doesn't wander out of an airlock by mistake.'

Worf took one step towards the Turbolift, then stopped, and did a double-take at Deanna.

'Husband?' he repeated, wearily.

Riker pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. It was going to be a long day.


	37. Chapter 37

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Roads Less Travelled

-x-

Two

-x-

It had happened again. Well… _something_ had happened, anyway. It would take him a while to work out precisely what that something was, however. If he were still capable of half the things he used to be; still swift and analytical of mind, still practically impossible to distract, then perhaps he would have been able to come up with a solution there and then. But things just were the way that they were. There was no changing matters, no going back…

From behind him in Engineering, Worf was calling his name. The Klingon sounded surprised and relieved. What was there to be relieved about?

He ran his fingers over his newly deceased best friend's VISOR, and noticed that they were trembling slightly. Stupid emotions. Was he ever going to grow accustomed to them?

'Data!' Worf repeated, grabbing Data's shoulder and pulling him around to face him. 'At last. You're alive again. You…' Worf stopped stock still for a second, his mouth half-open in disbelief as he glanced Data up and down. 'Oh.'

Data managed a tight smile. 'You are not the version of Worf with whom I was speaking moments ago, are you?'

Worf shook his head.

'It came as quite a surprise to him, too. In fact, from my point of view, this is the third occasion today in which you have been shocked at seeing me in this particular state of being.'

'You're human,' mumbled Worf.

'I had noticed that,' Data replied, aping Worf's hushed tone.

He stood back, aware that he was being unfair on the unfortunate, reality-hopping Klingon. It was merely that his day was going badly enough as it was without having to explain his circumstances three times to the same person.

'I have been like this now for three years,' Data explained. 'I saved Q's mortal life and he returned the favour by bestowing upon me a gift that I was not at liberty to refuse.'

'You still sound like the old Data,' noted Worf.

'Yes,' Data sighed, 'my grasp of syntax remains the same. I have no way of ascertaining whether it is so that Q can claim that he did not entirely alter me from the being that I used to be, or merely his sadistic sense of humour at play.' He paused. 'I take it that your version of myself was thanked differently…?'

'From what I'm aware, Q never so much as breathed a word of gratitude to the Data of my reality for saving his life.'

'Then he had a fortunate escape,' Data replied. 'If you should ever be safely returned to your own reality, please do him the favour of advising him never to get into the "good books" of a member of the Q Contiuum ever again.'

'You are not pleased to be human?' Worf asked.

'I never wished for the "magical transformation" that he facilitated,' Data told him. 'And, while humanity has its advantages, on days such as today it does feel like a burden.' He felt a new swell of bitterness and grief rise up within him, but was able to bite it back down. His hands faintly trembling again, he held Geordi's VISOR up to Worf. 'Had I the mental capacity and speed of an android, would I have been able to save him?'

'I can have no way of knowing,' Worf replied. 'Commander LaForge still died in the reality I was last in, but in that universe you had never existed, as an android or otherwise.' Worf paused. 'Since he died even when you were not present, it can be assumed that his death is, at least, not your fault.'

Data didn't reply. Geordi's name was just another that he could add to the list of people whose lives he believed he might have been able to save if left as his creator had intended. As an android, might he not have also saved Wesley, and Shelby? Might he have saved Picard from that fate worse than death? And if so, might not the Borg have been denied that further advantage that they now held over the Federation? He could not help but wonder whether his involuntary transformation into flesh and blood had made the whole universe a darker, more dangerous place in which to live.

He snapped himself out of it.

'Time is of the essence,' he announced to Worf, suddenly. 'I do not know when you will switch realities again, and forget everything that I have just told you. I am certain that you will be able to acquaint yourself better with this version of reality as you continue to dwell in it.' He sighed at the diagnostic array. 'When you switched, something occurred to your RNA. Were I android, I would be able to process the information faster, but as it is, I will require time undisturbed to do so. Perhaps you should report to Captain Riker and inform him that you have yet again changed realities, and that I am working on the clues as to why.'

Worf stalled. 'Captain _Riker_?'

'Yes. Captain Riker. I take it that your Captain Picard was not abducted by the Borg.'

'He was,' Worf replied, 'but we were able to retrieve him.'

Data looked back at him. 'Then, it really would appear that your universe was bestowed with all of the luck.'

-x-

Matters had now reached a stage where Worf found it almost pleasantly surprising to discover that any one of his colleagues was still alive and serving with him. Besides the human Data and Captain Riker, he had been able to ascertain from his conversation with the Captain that Dr Crusher and Counsellor Troi were still present aboard the Enterprise. He was further relieved to be met outside the Ready Room by Tasha Yar.

Yar gave him a sympathetic smile. 'So, what's changed for you this time?'

'Much,' Worf replied. 'Every time that reality changes, it becomes a little less recognisable from the one I'm accustomed to.' He frowned. 'Every time, yet more good people have been lost.'

'And there was me thinking you Klingons celebrated the deaths of soldiers,' Tasha replied in a fondly mocking tone.

'To die in battle is a great honour,' Worf replied. 'To never have existed, or to have been assimilated into the Borg's slavery… that is a different matter.'

Tasha, it seemed, had no answer to that. Worf nodded at her red Commanding Officer's uniform.

'You are the First Officer?'

'Ever since Shelby was killed,' Tasha replied. 'You're the Security chief, by the way. I don't know whether you're used to that or not.'

Worf grunted and made his way over to the Tactical console. 'I may have to familiarise myself with the controls. Again.'

He gazed at the console. It was different to the one he was used to, but much more recognisable that the one he'd been faced with in the previous reality. He was certain that he would be able to work with it.

'Any further questions?' Yar prompted.

'Yes,' Worf muttered. There was one large difference about the previous reality that had troubled him greatly. He lowered his voice. 'Am I… married?'

Tasha beamed. 'I should say so.'

It was as she smiled that Worf noticed the glint of gold on the third finger of her left hand. He balked. First Troi, now Yar?!? Who would he be wedded to next – Guinan?

'You…' he whispered, tightly, 'you and I are…'

Tasha cut him off with her loud, joyful laugh. 'You and _me_? Not that I don't think the world of you, Worf, but… you and me…?' She dissolved into giggles again.

Relieved as Worf was, he couldn't help but feel more than a little annoyed at the strength of her reaction.

'I'm sorry,' Tasha gasped, wiping an errant tear of mirth from the corner of her eye. 'With what happened to Geordi, if I can't find something to laugh at, I'll fall apart right now. It's just that you're like the big Klingon brother I always should have had. I don't think reality's ever going to get _that_ weird. Besides, I just can't imagine you with anybody other than Deanna.'

'So, I am still married to Counsellor Troi.'

'I think it's generally the done thing to refer to one's spouse by their first name, but yes.'

'And you...?'

The Turbolift doors opened and Data stepped on to the Bridge. Seeing the being he had always known to be an android suddenly turned human was certainly one of the more unsettling changes to Worf's concept of reality. Even though Worf knew that Data had always longed to be more like a human, something about him now didn't seem right. Maybe Data merely didn't suit full humanity, or maybe it was just that being made human by Q had created an aura of falseness about him. Whatever it was, there was something uncomfortable about Data in this guise – as though he were wearing a costume that didn't fit.

The former android headed straight for Worf and Tasha.

'There you are,' he announced, needlessly. 'I believe that I may have discovered a clue as to why you are becoming unstuck in reality, Worf. I suggest that we meet with the Captain immediately, so that I may explain.'

Worf cocked his head a little at Data. Wet eyed and flushed, the new human was still as distracted as he had been in Engineering.

'Can it be stopped?' Worf asked.

'I have identified what I believe to be a quantum flux in your RNA at the time of the…'

'But can it be stopped?' repeated Worf. 'Can it be rectified?'

Data looked lost. 'Um.' He looked down at the floor. 'If we can find the cause, then… um.'

He rubbed a shaking hand over his forehead. For a horrible moment, Worf thought that he was going to be witness to Data breaking down into a flood of tears.

'Hey.' Tasha put a hand on Data's shoulder. 'Pull it together.'

It had not been a command, but a gentle, caring encouragement. Tasha rubbed her hand supportively down Data's arm, until he caught her wrist, gratefully. That's when Worf saw it. His attention before had been so caught by the sight of Data as a human that he hadn't noticed the plain gold band on Data's wedding finger. Well, he reasoned to himself, that at least made some sense.

'We'll get through this,' Tasha continued, 'we'll do what needs to be done, and then we can let ourselves grieve.'

'Just as we always do,' murmured Data.

'Just like always,' Tasha agreed, giving his arm a quick squeeze. 'Let's go and see the Captain.'

-x-

_Accidents such as this are not supposed to happen. The paths criss-cross, and sometimes more perceptive beings are aware of how close the intersections come, but a total breakdown of the walls such as this is practically unheard of. However, nothing out in the endless black is entirely impossible, and if you journey into the unknown, then the unpredictable is likely to catch up with you. It was not the first tear in reality, nor would it be the last. It was highly unusual, however, for the same person to get caught up in the meshing of paths for a second time. This was probably why Tasha heard the voice as the ship fell through the quantum fissure into a void flooded with other versions of itself._

'You don't want to start slipping through parallel dimensions,' Tasha murmured, instinctively approaching her husband's post as she watched the screen fill with Enterprises, 'you never know where you're gonna end up.'

Data glanced across at her. 'Are you quoting somebody?'

'Guinan,' breathed Tasha.

'Who is Guinan?'

'I don't know,' Tasha admitted, 'but I know that, wherever she is, this'll be giving her a killer headache.'

Behind her, Worf was trying to hail the other ships in an attempt to find his own version of reality. Unfortunately, it seemed, everybody else had the same idea. The hailing frequencies were a gabble of voices. This was going to be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Images of the ship's Bridge – always slightly different in design and crew – began to flash up on the screen as various Captains Picard, Riker, and at one point, Jellico, attempted to piece together what was going on. She watched the different crews as they popped up. Although it gladdened her heart to see Picard and Geordi alive in so many of them, as well as the occasional glimpse of the other friends she had witnessed the deaths of, she found it troubling that she herself was absent from over half of the crews that she saw. One of the versions of Worf they'd played host to since this whole incident began had mentioned that in his universe she had been killed years ago. More concerning to her still was that every time she saw an alternate version of her husband, he was still android. Whenever a crew appeared on screen that contained both her and Data, the other Tasha was never standing at the other Data's side as she did at her husband's Ops post. The other Tasha and other Data would always be apart… she always got the feeling that there was an awkwardness between all those other versions of themselves. From the comments this latest version of Worf had made, in his reality Data was neither human nor in a relationship with Tasha.

Tasha instinctively brushed hands with her husband as she wondered – certainly not for the first time – whether his enforced humanity and their marriage was linked. She'd always hoped not. She'd fallen for him before he was changed. Admittedly, it was during that upheaval after his transformation – when he wasn't able to cope with his new biological needs; when emotions, physical pain, fatigue and slowed responses were still coming as unpleasant shocks to him – that they found themselves growing closer and truly realising that they should be an item. She couldn't imagine though, had he not been made human, that him being an android could have prevented her from marrying him. Was she really capable of being that shallow? She'd told him the day she'd proposed that she'd always love him, no matter what – that they were meant to be together - and she'd believed it. The recent breakdown in reality, however, had made her question whether anything, even love, was truly "meant to be". Worf himself seemed surprised and uncomfortable at the concept of being married to Deanna, and Tasha couldn't imagine those two not being completely in love with one another. Perhaps love really was just down to circumstance, and dumb luck. The idea of that depressed her no end.

The void was continuing to fill with different versions of the ship. How many more could the fissure take before reality collapsed completely? One version of Captain Riker could be briefly heard offering a solution, as long as the correct Enterprise for their version of Worf could be found, but his voice was quickly lost in the confusion again. There were voices desperate to return to their realities… and voices just as desperate never to go back. As plagued as Tasha's reality was by the Borg, the cries for sanctuary from other versions of themselves brought home to her just how much worse her situation could be.

Amongst the half-conversations being picked up came a spark of hope for a return to normality; the voice of Jean Luc Picard speaking about a remodulated shuttle, and the possibility that sending one of the Worfs back in it could mend the tear. Tasha shared a glance with her husband. It was both joyous and heartbreaking to hear Picard's voice again. The voice of the old Captain mentioned that the remodulated shuttle had been Data's idea – another Data, an android Data, no doubt. Her, human Data cast his eyes back down at his console. She knew that he didn't need reminding that his mind now was nowhere near as quick or keen as it had been when he was electronic. As a human, he could never have come up with that sort of plan so swiftly.

In spite of the plan that had been suggested, the cacophony over the hailing frequencies continued abound. Some voices were still determined not to go back; most were either questioning the proposed solution or still, as they were doing, fruitlessly trying to find which ship it was that the version of Worf they were currently playing host to belonged aboard. After all, even if the fissure were sealed, what would that mean for everybody who had fallen through? Would the Worf with them remain unstuck in reality? Would they all now remain dislodged in this strange void? How could they ensure that they'd be returned to the correct reality, and even if they were, would they have any memory of what had happened? Would the strange events surrounding Worf's reality jumping be undone? Would Geordi be revived? Tasha found herself instinctively trusting the plan that she'd heard – but was that because it made sense, or just because she'd longed to hear Jean Luc Picard's voice again for so long that she'd automatically have faith in any proposal he put forth?

It was certainly better than any plan they'd come up with themselves, so maybe all that there was left to do now was wait.

-x-

'Worf!'

Tasha beckoned the Klingon over to her table. He had entered Ten Forward looking lost and mildly put-out. He sat down opposite her with a pensive expression.

'You OK?'

Worf frowned at her. 'There was nobody in my quarters.'

'Were you expecting anybody to be in your quarters?' Tasha asked. 'I thought Alexander wasn't due back for another few days.'

'I was anticipating…' Worf trailed off. 'After all, it _is_ my Birthday…'

'Why would we throw a party in your quarters? You'd hate that. We're having a little get-together here at 2100 hours. Remember? It was all arranged before you left for the tournament.' Tasha paused. 'Guinan sends her apologies, by the way – she doesn't think she'll be well enough to make it by this evening.'

'Guinan is ill?'

'Headache,' relied Tasha. 'I imagine it'd be to do with this… what did you call it? A Quantum Fissure?'

'That's likely,' Worf nodded. 'I was beginning to wonder if I were the only one who was in the least bit affected by it after it was sealed.'

'Well, Guinan's perceptive like that. Frankly, I'm just grateful that it was somebody else falling through into the wrong dimensions for a change.' Tasha smiled brightly before sipping at her coffee. 'So what was it like?'

Worf shook his head, vaguely. 'There was a state of much confusion aboard the vessel that I found myself on in the fissure, so many of the details were not available to me. Another version of the Enterprise's crew was able to locate the version of myself who belonged to their universe and seal the fissure. The events surrounding my dislodging in reality must have undone themselves. I found myself returning from the Bat'leth tournament once more as though nothing since then had ever occurred.'

Tasha set down her cup. 'I meant, what were the other realities like?'

'Strange.'

'How?'

Worf eyeballed her. 'Do you _really_ want to know?'

'Of course! Come on, I already know the sad fate of one alternative Tasha Yar – you've got to tell me at least _some_ of the other ones were just a little bit happy.'

'_Some_ of them were content,' confirmed Worf, warily. 'Largely. From what I was able to tell.' He paused. 'In the first reality I visited, however, you were dead.'

Tasha's smile dropped. 'How?'

'In many versions of reality,' Worf explained, 'it would appear that the Telemachus Tragedy happened to us instead.'

Tasha nodded, solemnly. 'I never could shake the feeling that we really dodged a bullet when Deanna was too sick for that conference. She'd have been on that shuttle that crashed, otherwise.' She thought back. 'That all happened so long ago – I'd have barely known you guys. God, I'd have been so young…' she trailed off. 'But that was only in the one reality, right?'

'Of those that I visited, yes. But there was another reality in which it had been Commander Data who lost his life on Vagra II.'

'Poor Alternate Data,' Tasha breathed.

'Death in the line of duty is preferable to having never existed in the first instance,' muttered Worf, quietly.

'Was it really all that bad?' Tasha asked. 'Weren't there any realities where people were alive and well and happy? No surprise babies? No surprise marriages?'

She caught a small, knowing smile playing around her Klingon friend's mouth.

'There were,' she prompted, lifting her coffee cup to her lips once more, 'weren't there?'

'In the final reality,' Worf admitted, 'both you and I were married.'

Tasha choked a little on her coffee. 'To each other?' she asked, incredulously.

'When I asked you that in the other dimension, you laughed in my face.'

'Really?' Tasha winced. 'I apologise on her behalf. It's just…'

'It's just that I'm the big Klingon brother you should always have had?'

'I couldn't have put it better myself.'

'You didn't.'

Tasha wrinkled her nose, confused. 'What?'

'You were not my wife,' Worf clarified. 'You were never my wife.'

'Well, you don't have to sound so relieved about it,' Tasha grumbled. 'So, who was?'

'Hmm?'

'Who was your wife?'

'I don't see how that is any of your business.'

'Oh, come _on_!' Tasha paused. Worf had obviously made up his mind that the identity of this mystery wife of his should remain a secret. Which obviously meant that it _had_ to be somebody she knew very well. 'Well, at least tell me who _I _was married to…?'

Worf raised his eyebrows. 'Who do you think?'

'Don't tell me there's a dimension out there where me and Data actually made it work together?'

Worf nodded. She didn't know why, but that knowledge suddenly made her incredibly happy.

'Well, how did we manage to pull an impossible feat like that off?'

'He was human,' Worf replied, simply. 'Q's doing, after the Calamarain.'

'Oh.' Tasha pondered this. 'Well, good for him, I guess. Got what he always wished for… I mean, I know he'd said no to Q turning him human with a click of the fingers before, but… but it worked out for him, right?'

'Isn't there an old human saying,' Worf retorted, quietly, 'that one should always be careful of what one wishes for?'

'Weren't we happy together?' Tasha asked.

'I believe that the marriage I saw between the two of you was loving,' Worf told her, 'and you did seem to be content with the situation.'

'However…' Tasha prompted.

Worf paused, before reluctantly answering. 'He was miserable. He was in a situation where he was no longer himself, and three years after he had been transformed, he was still constantly struggling with his humanity. You were a comfort to him, but…'

'But not enough,' Tasha sighed. She wondered now whether every time she'd wished Data to be a little more human, she had been wishing the unhappiness Worf had described upon him.

'That reality doesn't affect ours,' Worf added. 'They were different lives, running parallel to ours. That is all.'

'You really think that?' Tasha asked. 'You're really not going to let all those other Worfs whose lives you lived, and all those different decisions they'd made affect the way you carry on with your own life?'

'I am not,' Worf resolved. 'This is my reality, and it is shaped by my own will. I'd have it no other way. Neither should you.'

Tasha fell silent for a moment. Maybe Sela's continued presence serving as a reminder of the ill-fated Other Tasha made her a little more concerned about the happenings of other dimensions, or maybe it was just that Worf's description of her being married to a human version of Data, with her joy in his humanity coming at the cost of Data's own wellbeing, had stuck in her mind, but she couldn't help but feel particularly moved by the story Worf had just told her – as though it were a part of her own life, somehow. Still, what was dwelling on these matters going to achieve?

She pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind and gave her friend a bright smile.

'Great to have you back, Worf.'

'It is a relief to _be_ back.'

'Happy Birthday.'

-x-

_A/N - Thanks as ever for reading & reviewing, guys - just to let you know that as my second child's birth is now imminent, there'll probably be a couple of months radio silence from me now - newborns aren't exactly known for leaving their parents with much free time, especially when you throw an energetic toddler into the mix! If all goes quiet, I aten't dead, I'm just busy with Mummy stuff. See you on the other side!_

_Scribbles_


	38. Chapter 38

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Analysis

-x-

He had expected her to say more.

He had, after all, been stranded, devoid of memory, on a pre-industrial world for some time. He had expected her to tell him that she had been concerned for his wellbeing.

He could recall nothing of what had happened to him on the planet, but according to Dr Crusher and Geordi, he had been found offline and badly damaged – so much so that he had been taken by the inhabitants of the world to have died, and buried as such. It was, as the Captain had pointed out, fortunate that that particular society disposed of their dead with burial rather than incineration. He had expected her to mention that she disliked the concept of him being treated as a corpse.

He had seen the records of the damage that had been done to him before the repairs to his body had taken place. It appeared that a long metal pick had been thrust through his torso, causing him to go offline. There had also been a large portion of the synthetic skin and hair torn from the left side of his face, and it seemed from the nature of the injury that this partial scalping had taken place while he was still functioning normally. He had, in human terms, been facially mutilated and then impaled. He had expected her to show distress at him being a victim of such violence, and at seeing his body so visibly damaged.

She had expressed none of those sentiments, however.

She had been present when he had been returned online, but the only interaction she had made with him had been to smile, to cast her gaze quickly down the curious apparel in which he had found himself dressed, and to declare; 'Nice tights'. By the time that he had noted the legwear in question and looked up to reply, she had walked away.

It was perplexing.

But did he not find much of Tasha's social interaction with him perplexing anyway? Had he not become so accustomed to finding their relationship over the years difficult to rationalise that he had long since abandoned any attempts to do so? He was not given these days to trying to over-analyse the motives behind Tasha's personal behaviour towards him unless she appeared to be angry with him, or in distress. So, why was he reflecting so much upon such a seemingly jovial and offhand remark?

Could it be that he was not merely confused?

Could it be…

Could it be that he was _disappointed?_

No.

No.

No, he was incapable of disappointment, as he was incapable of feeling hopeful.

No.

Impossible.

Besides which, what was there about her remark that could even be viewed as meriting disappointment? She had complimented him with a friendly comment. She had made no verbal suggestion that she had been worried for him when he had been missing, or that she was relieved now to see him returned to his normal state of functioning, but that did not mean that she had not experienced those emotions. Perhaps she had felt that she no longer needed to remind him that she cared.

In any case, what concern of his was the emotional response of another?

He noticed that he was staring at the box in which he kept the emotion chip that had been salvaged from his brother. It was the 429th occurrence in which his eyes had settled on the container, seemingly unbidden, since Geordi had presented it to him.

He was still unsure about whether to ever attempt to install the chip. As much as his friends assured him that the hatred he had felt and the damage he had caused while under the influence of the chip had been due to Lore's abuse of the device, he could still not escape the possibility that, were he to attempt to use it again, it would trigger the same response. His behaviour had been unacceptable. He had obsessively pursued more emotions, losing reason and ethical consideration in the process.

And the hatred that he had felt… the fury…

He retained memories of all those emotions. They hung about him like shadows, like phantoms of feelings. Sometimes they would come to him in his dreams – never within him, always behaving as separate individuals, like Dr Faustus' visitation from the Seven Sins… He had experienced Pride and Wrath, certainly; as well as Greed, for more emotion.

And Avarice.

The concept of jealousy had played about the edges of his awareness when he had been under Lore's influence – as certain as he had been at the time that androids were superior to organic life forms, when he had cast his mind back to how very easily his friends found social interactions which never failed to leave him bemused; how they took physical and emotional pleasure for granted so, he had experienced envy. He was aware of that now.

Sloth and Gluttony had not affected him, but then he was capable of taking no pleasure from rest or consumption of food.

As for Lust…

…as for Lust, he could no more experience sexual gratification than he could take pleasure in a long sleep or large meal. It was illogical for such a visceral vice to have affected him.

And yet…

He _had_ been enraged with Tasha. He _had_ meant what he had told her, about despising her. That was a large contributing factor towards his disinclination to try using the emotion chip again. He had no wish to feel so aggrieved by her again. There had been something else present when he had seen her, however. Not merely anger, or a feeling of superiority over her as an electronic being, or envy over her humanity.

He knew that it was possible for individuals to sexualise hatred. Tasha herself, as the victim of so many violent sexual attacks in her childhood, was testament to that. That was why he would never tell her of his concerns that within the rage and the hatred towards her, he may have also experienced an element of desire. Much like the envy, he had barely noted it at the time. It was an occurrence that had only become plain to him after much analysis of his period under Lore's control. He recalled the sensation of sexual need from Q's orchestrated incident in the Turbolift. The sensation while he had been under the influence of the emotion chip had been nowhere near as pressing, but he believed now that it had been present, alongside the violent rage.

What type of person did that make him?

Tasha spoke of those who showed anger and violent lust towards her in the past as monsters. Indeed, he had witnessed her reaction to the Romulan General who had fathered Sela with an Alternate Tasha Yar. He had seen her distress; felt her hand as it had trembled with impotent rage; sat with her as she'd wept over how her years of abuse still affected her every day.

By attempting to install the emotion chip, even without Lore's intervention, he ran the risk of becoming like one of those monsters from Tasha's past. Even if he never acted upon the feelings, the combination of bitter recrimination and possessive desire was, he believed, a highly inappropriate response to have towards a fellow officer.

Let alone one who claimed to love him, and who appeared to wish him to love her in return.

Was that still the case? Were those still her feelings, or had Tasha since had yet another of her changes of mind? He believed that it would be inappropriate to ask her. In any case, would a change in her feelings and needs have any affect upon his response to her? He believed that, whether her feelings towards him were still amorous or merely friendly, she would still find the resentment he had felt towards her while equipped with emotions distressing, and no matter what her feelings towards him were, he would still find that shadow of desire… unfortunate. Troublesome, almost.

But if her emotional response to him was indeed so irrelevant, why had he been ruminating over her comment regarding the tights for so long?

It was all most perplexing.

_Tasha_ was most perplexing.

For the 429th time, he made a concerted effort to move his attention away from the emotion chip. For now, it would be neither activated nor destroyed. The emotions bequeathed to him would remain a Schrödinger's Cat – neither alive nor dead, in its box – until the moment came when he believed either that the positives of using the device satisfactorily outweighed the negatives, or vice-versa. That time had not yet arrived; therefore there was no merit on dwelling on the matter. Nor was there any merit in dwelling upon Tasha's earlier comment.

But, he _had_ expected her to say something more…

He got to his feet, briskly. This over-analysis was unhelpful, and becoming more than a little repetitive. He should concentrate upon some other activity.

Perhaps he should paint.

Again.

_Again…?_

Yes. He should paint again.

He removed the protective dustsheet from his latest project and carefully re-opened the box of unsynthesised acrylics that Wesley had sent him on the last "Birthday" that the young Cadet had nominally elected for him – the anniversary of his being discovered on Omicron Theta - purely on the grounds that "everybody should get Birthday presents". With a knife, he added one part white to 4.6839 parts cobalt blue, mixing the paints evenly until they were exactly the tone of blue that he required. That done, he began to paint.

But, he _had_ expected her to say something more.

* * *

_A/N - Thanks for all your messages, guys - I now have a lovely little baby boy as well as a delightful 2yo daughter. Finding time to write at the moment between looking after the wee ones and trying to get enough sleep is tough, but I'm getting the odd hour to peck away at my hobby. Updates will most likely be slower than usual for several months. Thanks for your patience!_

_Scribbles_

_xxx_


	39. Chapter 39

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Something Changed

-x-

One

-x-

'Captain…? Uh… I mean… Ambassador…? Uh…'

Picard recognised the voice, and vaguely understood that it was his attention the speaker was trying to attract, but sleep still held his mind in a state of confusion. He was warm, and comfortable on a soft seat, with the sensation of gently slowing movement all about him. This must, a relatively awake part of his mind told him, be what it was like to be a baby, sleeping in its perambulator. He had been somewhere else… the past, before retirement and this wretched sickness. And now where was he…? Why was he moving…? Who was that, gently patting his arm and muttering in his ear?

'Jean… Luc?' Added the voice, in the tone of one unused to calling Picard by his first name. 'We're here.'

Picard pulled himself slowly from his dozy state and opened his eyes.

Geordi LaForge gave him a small, apologetic smile. 'Sorry to have to wake you, but if we don't get off here we're gonna end up some place called Great Yarmouth.'

'Geordi,' Picard muttered. He still felt as though his head were packed with cotton wool. 'Where… where's "here"?'

'Cambridge, St Edmund's,' announced a voice over the Comms system. Picard sat up and noted that he was aboard a mid-distance Terrestrial Shuttle – the type he'd once used for short breaks in Scotland or Greece with Beverly, before it had all gone wrong.

'Cambridge, St Edmund's,' repeated the voice. 'Messers LaForge and Picard, please alight here. Next stop is Norwich.'

'Cambridge,' Picard muttered.

'Data,' prompted Geordi, gathering up their hand luggage.

Picard nodded. 'Of course.' He paused, a memory coming back to him. 'I take it we're still not to mention…'

'Probably best not to,' Geordi replied. 'I'm sure if he wants to discuss it, he will.'

'So, the situation hasn't changed at all?'

'Last I heard,' confirmed Geordi with a sigh.

The shuttle finally drew to a stop, and the two old men stepped off.

-x-

The College was a labyrinth of corridors and courtyards – the sort of organised chaos that Picard had come to expect of civilian academia. Neither of them could quite remember how to navigate their way to Data's office and after a while had to call up a visitor's map. Still, Picard couldn't find Data's office on the holographic map, until he realised that he was searching for the android Professor under the wrong name.

'They haven't changed his name,' he noted, under his breath.

'_He_ hasn't changed it,' Geordi replied.

'A change of heart?' Picard hazarded. 'A renewal of hope?'

'I wouldn't know,' Geordi told him. 'Like I say, I never ask him about it.'

They turned to follow the map's directions up to the Professor's office, and almost collided with a tall, dark youth, clad in a muddy Rugby strip, sprinting in the opposite direction.

Picard blinked in recognition. 'Nikolai? Goodness, is that you?' He found himself having to tilt his head upwards a little to look the youth in the eye. The last time he'd seen Nikolai, the young man had been a good couple of inches shorter than him. 'Either I'm shrinking, or you've sprouted.'

The flustered young man held out a hasty hand for Picard to shake.

'Monsieur Picard,' he greeted. 'Always nice to see you. Hi, Uncle Geordi.'

'Why does he get "Uncle Geordi" and I get "Monsieur Picard"?' grumbled the former Ambassador, pumping Nikolai's hand.

'And aren't you going the wrong way?' Geordi added. 'Your home's the opposite direction.' He pointed to the helpful map. 'See?'

'Practice over-ran,' explained Nikolai, indicating to his strip.

'Still love the Rugby, eh?' grinned Picard. 'Well, I'm glad that your father finally saw some sense on the matter. It's good for a boy to have a sport…' he trailed off, noting Nikolai's expression. 'Let me guess,' he added. 'He thinks you've been in the library for the last couple of hours.'

Nikolai nodded, guiltily.

Geordi shook his head, wearily. 'You'd better get showered and changed, then.'

'You haven't seen me,' Nikolai prompted. 'Monsieur Picard, I'd appreciate it if you acted surprised at how much I've grown when I see you again in front of Dad.'

'Only if you stop calling me Monsieur Picard,' Picard replied. He turned to Geordi as the youth hurried off. '_Why_ do you get to be an Honorary Uncle when I don't?'

Geordi didn't reply. He watched Nikolai turn the corner, and sighed.

'Poor kid. It's not _his_ fault.'

'I don't think anybody's ever suggested that it was.' Picard paused. 'He isn't being punished. Nikolai's 17. It's hardly abnormal for a boy his age to feel the need to keep certain interests a secret from their fretful parents.'

'I guess.' Geordi sighed again. 'The whole thing just makes me so… so sad.'

'Of course it does,' Picard replied. 'It _is_ sad. It's sad for anybody who cares about the Yars.'

-x-

The rooms in which Professor Data Yar combined office and personal living space were very different to how the android's old private quarters had been, back on the Enterprise. The Spartan, angular, meticulously ordered world in which he had once lived had been replaced with clutter and disarray. There was not a square foot of wall which was not covered either with books, crammed in no discernable order onto elderly, mismatching shelves, or with artwork – which, besides the occasional Klimt or Picasso print, were largely Data's own work. The floor of the main parlour was full of chairs and coffee tables – which, themselves, were largely strewn with more books, papers, pens and teacups; the debris of Data's and Nikolai's studies.

The Professor made no apology for the mess as he welcomed Picard and Geordi, but did at least set about clearing spaces for them all to sit down and take tea. Picard watched the android as he swiftly gathered up armfuls of notes, filing the papers away with no apparent system. Not that he needed a system, Picard reminded himself – Data would remember exactly where he'd put every scrap of paper. Perhaps that was the reason for the disarray – perhaps Data felt the need to be the only person who knew where to find anything in his own office – a small shred of autonomy to cling to in a life over which he had lost so much control. As Data "tidied", Picard described the recent phenomena that had driven him and Geordi to pay the Professor a visit.

'You have been experiencing visions of the past?' Data ascertained. 'Could that not be a result of your condition?'

'They _weren't_ visions,' insisted Picard. 'I was _there_. The Captain of the Enterprise. Right at the start – before Farpoint – and then again, seven years after that.' He paused. 'Before we lost Deanna. Before I made the mistake of marrying one of my closest friends…' He trailed off.

Having finally cleared enough space for everybody to sit, Data settled himself down with a grim smile in Picard's direction. 'Indeed, I am beginning to understand the potential folly of wedlock myself.'

Nobody replied to Data's comment. Picard noticed that Geordi suddenly seemed particularly interested in his teacup.

'Neither of you have so much as asked after Tasha,' Data added. 'If I did not know better, I might consider that more than a little impolite.'

'We know you'd tell us if you'd heard anything,' Geordi replied, still addressing his cup. 'It seemed unkind to bring it up, needlessly reminding you about the whole thing…'

'Am I supposed to be able to forget about her if she is not mentioned?' Data asked, not cruelly. 'Are any of us? I can only imagine that you are both also concerned for her wellbeing – you were close to her too.'

Picard just nodded. What could he say? What was there to say? Should he admit to Data that he had reconciled himself with the odds being stacked against Tasha still being alive after so long missing, and made peace with the idea of her being dead and gone?

His eye was caught by a series of images cluttering the wall of an alcove in which squatted a battered upright piano. Paintings and Holos jostled there for what little space there was. Some of the images were of a pale, dark haired girl with large, bewildered eyes – Lal. More paintings were of a second girl; pale skinned once more, but with red hair this time, and sharper features, with that same well-meaning confusion in her eyes as Lal's had. The red haired "girl" was Abigail; the second of Data's short lived android children. Perhaps, had Abigail's creation been before the activation of Data's emotion chip, he might have attempted to build a third android in the hope of one of them at least being able to survive. But events had not transpired that way. To that day, Picard remembered Data's face the night that Abigail died. They had all known then, without a word being shared, that Data would never try to create another life ever again. Two Holos of the Data Yars' short, idiosyncratic wedding ceremony dominated the left side of the alcove, and to the centre were three smaller Holos, all made within a few weeks of one another – a young family of four; an android father, human mother and two adopted human babies with dark skin and eyes. Small babies. Sickly babies. Babies that love and care alone couldn't save. Nikolai had limped from sickbed to sickbed through infancy. Nadia, his sister, had never made it that far.

How could Picard possibly tell Data that he had started to accept Tasha's probable demise? Data would never understand – with every member of his family he had lost, the android had grown less and less accepting of death. He clung desperately to the memories of the daughters whose deaths he had witnessed, and while there was no concrete evidence to the contrary, Data would cling to the prospect that his wife was still alive. He would keep those wedding Holos on top of the piano, would keep Tasha's name and the wedding ring on his finger. Data would rather be the husband of a missing wife than a Widower. That was what time, and emotion, and the tragic mortality of his children had made of him.

Picard was about to break the tense silence by returning the conversation to the matter of his flashes of the past when a freshly scrubbed and dressed Nikolai Yar hurried into the office. Picard beamed, grateful of the distraction.

'Nikolai? Is that you?'

'Monsieur Picard,' greeted Nikolai, extending his hand exactly as he had done before.

'For pity's sake, stop calling me that.' Picard took care to examine the youth's height once more, as he had been instructed. 'Well, either I've shrunk or you've sprouted.'

'You have not shrunk,' Data added with considerable pride. 'Nikolai has grown three inches in height since you saw him last.' Data waited for his son to greet Geordi before addressing the youth. 'Were you able to complete your essay?'

'Just handed it in,' Nikolai replied, concentrating on removing his backpack of books.

Data began pouring his son a cup of tea. 'Have you eaten?'

'Just some biscuits.'

'Did you check that they were gluten free?'

'No, Dad. I'm an idiot and I wanted to spend the next couple of days in agony. Of course I checked they were gluten free.'

'You do not always check.'

'Yes, well I checked this time.' Nikolai rolled his eyes at the two guests.

Geordi grinned conspiratorially at the young man. 'Studying hard then, Nik? All work and no play…'

'Well,' Nikolai replied, softly, 'if I'm going to be accepted as an Undergrad here, I'm going to need a lot of Grade As.'

Picard exchanged a glance with Geordi. 'You… want to stay in Cambridge to study?'

'It's the finest University on Earth,' Nikolai replied, with a faint hollowness to his tone.

'Nikolai's roots are here,' Data added, 'all of his friends…'

'…and his Dad, of course,' Geordi interjected. 'Gotta have somebody to make sure he always checks the biscuits are gluten free, right?'

Data set his cup down with a tight, polite smile. 'Geordi, please.'

'You know what I'm gonna say, Data.'

'I _do_ know what you are going to say, Geordi, as you already know what my response will be, so what is the benefit in our speaking them out loud?'

'Dad?' Nikolai warned. 'Uncle Geordi? Let's not have another argument…'

'It's OK, Nik,' Geordi soothed.

'Thought you two were meant to be best mates,' Nikolai muttered at his teacup. 'But it seems like all you ever do these days is argue.'

'That is because Geordi and I know that we can speak our minds freely in front of one another,' Data replied.

'It's _because_,' snapped Geordi, 'somebody has to tell your Dad when he's being an overprotective idiot, and since your Mum isn't around any more, it looks like that job passes on to me.'

'Nobody is obliged to help me parent my Son,' retorted Data with a tight terseness. 'Not even my wife, it would appear, and certainly not you, Geordi.'

'I'm just _saying_…'

'I believe,' interrupted Data, suddenly, 'that we have spent quite enough time discussing my personal life.' The android turned to Picard. 'You came to me to help you to find a reason for these sensations of being in the past, and I intend to do so to the best of my abilities. We should not rule out the possibility of a temporal or dimensional disturbance…'

As Data began hypothesising, Picard felt everything shift around himself, and wondered as it did if the android really had changed quite as much as he sometimes liked to think. Data was still at ease with scientific and technological problems that would be beyond the capabilities of most human minds, and yet still baffled and troubled by interpersonal relationships – desperate to care, but still fundamentally lonely. Was the Professor really much different to the Lieutenant Commander he had met all those years ago…?

All those years ago.

A young Lieutenant Yar got to her feet and gallantly indicated towards the shuttle's door. Picard looked up at her, confused. Why was he on a shuttle? And in Starfleet uniform – God, one of the old all-in-one suits… hadn't he been only too glad to see the back of those, decades ago…?

'You first, Captain,' smiled Yar. 'She's your ship.'

_Captain_…? Picard blinked. Wasn't Tasha supposed to be Missing In Action – why was she here? He'd been on Earth. He'd been talking with Data…

'Data…?' he muttered.

'Data…' repeated Tasha, a little blankly. 'You mean the robo…' she stopped and corrected herself. 'The android? That's the correct term, isn't it – android?'

'Or "artificial life form",' Picard replied, a little hazily. 'Anything but "robot".' He smiled faintly to himself. 'Wouldn't want to hurt his feelings…'

'Well, the… android… artificial… Officer's due on the next shuttle, I think.' Yar bent down to a monitor on the shuttle and called up the personnel files. 'Do you want me to tell him to report immediately to you…? Oh!'

'Is there a problem?'

'No,' Yar replied. She nodded at Data's image on the screen. 'When they told me I'd be working with an android,' she added, more to herself than to him, 'I was expecting a being that looked a little more… technological. He just looks like… like a guy.'

Picard stared at her. Everything was beginning to fall back into place. He was not a retired Ambassador with crippling Irumodic Syndrome, but a Starfleet Captain, stepping onto his new command – the Enterprise D – for the first time. Keiko was to Miles O'Brien just some pretty Botanist he had passed once in a corridor. Deanna Troi was to Worf just a fellow officer to whom the Klingon had yet to adjust. And the android that was to become Professor Data Yar was to his future wife just a surprisingly ordinary looking face on a screen.

'You haven't met him yet,' Picard noted aloud.

'No, Sir. Besides Lieutenant Worf and yourself, I haven't met any of them yet.' She paused, before adding; 'but I've been reading their records, and… and it looks like you picked a fine crew.'

'Yes.' Captain Picard smiled warmly as he set foot on his ship for the first time… or, for the _second_ first time, at least. 'Yes, I really did.'


	40. Chapter 40

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Something Changed

-x-

Two

-x-

The shifts back into his life as an old man were always the hardest… or, at least, he _believed_ that they were shifts from one stage of his life to another. There was still the possibility to face that the glimpses of the past he was experiencing were all just in his mind. He found himself being nudged gently out of foggy sleep once again by Geordi LaForge. Urgencies he had been aware of in the past still clung to him now, however. While the memory was still relatively fresh, he told Geordi about the anomaly that he had witnessed in the Devron system in the past he had just visited, and the pressing need to get out into the Neutral Zone. It was only as he was saying this that he recalled there had not _been_ a Neutral Zone for some time, ever since the Klingon Empire's considerable expansion.

Still… he had to try, at least. And while he still had friends in high places…

'Mr Data! Get me Admiral Riker.'

The android looked blankly up at Picard from a pile of notes. Picard should have noted the way that Nikolai shrank behind his book, or Geordi's warning cough, but the past was still urging him on to get to the Neutral Zone by whatever means were possible. The personal feelings of others didn't even register for him at that point.

'I believe he's at Starbase 247,' Picard added.

Data gazed emptily at him for a moment longer, before replying; 'No.'

It took a moment for Picard to remember that the android was no longer his subordinate, and not obliged to acquiesce to any command of his.

'Data,' he replied 'this is important.'

'So were my daughters,' answered Data. 'So was my marriage. But Starfleet took those from me.'

'No one "took" Mum,' Nikolai muttered from behind his book. 'Mum left.'

'She went missing while under _their_ command,' Data added. 'Lal and Abigail were pushed into cascade failure by Starfleet's unnecessary meddling, whereas its failure to intervene on time when it _was_ required, resulted in Nadia and Nik's illnesses. I turned my back on Starfleet a long time ago, and I shall have no contact with them…'

Geordi folded his arms. 'Uh-huh. When, exactly, was the last time you did communicate with Admiral Riker?'

Data didn't reply, but stared at his friend, stonily.

'Just because,' Geordi added, 'I can see the recent call list on your vidiscreen,' he nodded at a barely visible list of tiny numbers, hidden under an almost entirely opaque hologram on the far wall, 'and it looks like you were in touch with Starbase 247 only last Friday.'

'Forgive me, Geordi, for doing all that is within my capabilities to attempt to locate my wife, even if that does include contradicting myself.' Data sighed. 'Contact the Admiral if you wish, but if you are expecting him to be helpful, perhaps you should prepare yourselves for disappointment.'

'Let me guess,' Geordi retorted. 'You're having arguments with Will Riker too these days.'

'Not "arguments" as such…' Data attempted.

'Come off it, Dad.' Nikolai shut his book. 'Half the college could hear _that_ row. You're going to run out of friends by the end of the year at the rate you're alienating them.'

'Young man…' warned Data.

'In defence of your father, Nikolai,' Picard interjected, 'the good Admiral has been notably more argumentative over the last few years, ever since he lost Deanna…' he trailed off and corrected himself. 'Since we _all_ lost Deanna.'

After all, he reminded himself, Will wasn't the only one who felt that loss keenly. It wasn't only Worf who the Admiral had grown frosty towards of late – he had pushed away practically everyone who had served on the Enterprise with Deanna and him. Perhaps he saw everybody as a rival for the fondness he had felt for the Betazoid, and not just those who had had romantic intentions towards her. Perhaps Will didn't want to share his loss with anybody who had loved her in any way. Perhaps he didn't want anybody else to miss her every day.

But everybody _did_ miss her. Everybody had loved her, and continued to love her after she was gone. That was just Deanna's way – her charm – and there was nothing that Will could do to monopolise that love, or that loss. Indeed, often Picard wondered whether it had been the loss of Deanna that had caused the friendship group – once practically family – to fall apart so. He likened it to a load-bearing beam being removed from on old building – take away just one support, and the whole structure begins to collapse in on itself. He found himself imagining – as he often did these days – Deanna's response to their behaviour. He could almost hear her voice telling them all that the anger they felt was a normal part of the grieving process, and that perhaps they should find healthier outlets for their rage than turning it in on themselves and each other. In fact, Picard often imagined that the only person who would have been able to guide them all through the pain of losing Deanna Troi was, ironically, Deanna Troi herself. Deanna could have helped Data come to terms with Tasha's disappearance – she might even have been able to help steer himself and Beverly away from their divorce… but, that was not to be. She was gone now, and all that they could do… all that there was to do…

There was something that he had to do.

He shook himself out of his spiralling, distracting thoughts and concentrated back on the task in hand. He had to get to the Devron System, somehow, and fast.

'May _I_ contact the Admiral from your Vidiscreen?' he asked.

'Be my guest,' Data replied. 'But expect no favours from him.'

Picard gave the Professor a grateful nod, and summoned Starbase 247 from the office's Comms system. After a moment, the screen filled with the image of William Riker, rubbing his face in exasperation.

'For the last time, Data,' growled Riker, still not looking up, 'the instant we hear any news about Tasha, believe me, you'll be the first to know. We're doing everything that we can to trace her, and… oh…' Will finally looked properly at the screen and blinked in surprise. 'Ambassador!'

'When are you going to start calling me Jean-Luc, Will?'

Riker actually managed a faint smile at that. 'What brings you to Cambridge, Ambassador? And to what do _I_ owe this honour?'

Picard told him about the shifts in time, and his pressing need to get passage to the Devron system, and as he talked, watched Will Riker's expression drain of all its earlier friendliness and enthusiasm, until all that was left was the same grim mask that he remembered from the day of Deanna's funeral. Before his old friend so much as opened his mouth to reply, Picard knew what the answer was going to be – that Starfleet could not - _would_ not – take any risks as far as potentially angering the Klingon Empire was concerned, and since the Devron System was now in Klingon space, it was out of bounds to them.

Picard sighed as Riker ended the transmission.

'Bang goes that idea,' muttered Geordi in disappointment. 'Guess you were right, Data.'

'With all due respect, though, nobody wants war with the Klingons,' Nikolai interjected. 'The Admiral's just going by the rules.'

'You're right, of course, Nikolai,' Picard agreed. 'It's just that the idea of Will Riker doing everything by the book is a rather depressing one.'

'Not to mention,' Geordi added, 'one which doesn't exactly help us out.'

Nikolai resignedly got to his feet to clear up the teacups, then froze, hit by an idea. 'Hang on, aren't you all friends with a Klingon governor?'

'"Friend" may be stretching the closeness of our relationship with Worf these days,' Geordi replied with a suck of the teeth.

'But he's an old crewmate, right?' Nikolai added, with increasing excitement. 'I mean, he served with you all for years…'

'So did Will,' Picard replied, 'but that didn't necessarily make him amenable to helping us.'

Well, Picard reasoned to himself, he couldn't really blame Will, or Worf, or any of his old colleagues now in high ranking positions – positions that they'd striven all their lives to obtain – positions that would be at potential risk were they to adhere to the request of their retired, senile former Captain.

'It's worth a try with Worf, though,' Nikolai persisted. 'I mean - he owes you enough to hear you out, at least, right?'

Picard nodded, thoughtfully. 'I imagine, however, that the very most Mr Worf would be able to do for this hypothetical mission would be to offer us special dispensation to the Devron System. We'd still face the problem of having to find a vessel able and willing to take us there.'

'Well,' replied Nikolai, perching on an armrest excitedly, 'what other old friends do you have that you could call a favour on?'

Picard fell quiet and frowned. There was only one person he could think of who commanded a starship that he could even remotely contemplate asking such a grand favour of, and he couldn't exactly say that he was keen to do so, considering the circumstances. There had to be somebody else. _Had _to be.

Unfortunately for him, the obvious solution was so glaring that it only took a split second for Data to realise it as well.

'A Medical ship would be allowed passage across the Klingon border.'

Picard nodded again, resignedly. 'Beverly.'

'How long has it been since you last spoke with your former wife?' Data asked with a touch of sympathy.

'Longer than it's been since you last spoke with yours.'

Data managed a small smile at his comment. 'But Tasha and I are not divorced. I believe that to divorce one's wife one must first have to locate her.'

'Dad,' Nikolai tutted. 'That's not funny.'

'Well,' interrupted Picard, 'at least we know the whereabouts of _one_ of our wives. Let's see if we can get in touch with the USS Pasteur.'

-x-

'How are you doing?'

The patient looked up, in a haze. 'Oh, it's the Captain. Captain on the Bridge!'

'We're not on the Bridge.'

'Captain in the… um… hospitally thing, then.'

'It's called a Sick Bay.'

The patient started giggling. 'A Sick Bay on a Medical Ship. I always thought Medical Ships were just one big Sick Bay.'

The Captain tilted her head a little at her patient. 'I think I'm gonna ask them to change your pain meds.'

'Oh, no…' the patient sighed.

'You're as high as a kite!'

'But it's nice!'

The Captain exhaled deeply. 'Maybe, under the circumstances of today, we can let you finish off this course of meds before finding something a little less intoxicating…'

'What's special about today? Is it my birthday? Did I ever tell you about the nicest Birthday present I ever got…?'

'Yes,' interrupted the Captain, 'several times.' She paused. 'I'm afraid I have something to tell you…'

'Serious Face,' the patient noted. 'Your Serious Face is never good. What's happened?'

'I've just got off the Vidiscreen,' the Captain explained, 'with Cambridge.'

'What?' The patient tried to prop herself up on her shoulders, but pain combined with her strong medication forced her onto her back once more. 'I asked you not contact them until I was ready, Beverly. You promised! I know you think it's wrong, but you gave your word…'

'My word's my bond,' Beverly replied. 'You know that. It was an incoming message. From Jean-Luc.'

The patient blinked. 'What?' she repeated. 'What's he doing in Cambridge? Visiting?'

'After a fashion,' Beverly replied. 'And the visits look as though they're going to continue. See…'

'Did you tell him?' the patient interrupted. 'About me? I don't want it to get out that way. Please don't tell him…'

'I didn't tell anybody about you,' Beverly replied. 'But I'm afraid that it seems you won't be able to hide away from your life for much longer.'

'I'm not hiding,' the patient muttered. 'I just need more time…'

'Well, your time's about to run out.' Beverly paused. 'He's already on his way. He's coming aboard.'

'Your husband?'

'_Your_ husband, Tasha. With Geordi and Jean-Luc. They needed a ship, and Jean-Luc persuaded me to let them use mine.' Beverly smiled a little. 'Even after everything, there's still not much I wouldn't do for that man.'

'Except stick around,' Tasha slurred, 'right?'

Beverly raised her eyebrows. 'A fine one to talk.'

Tasha snorted a self-deprecating laugh. 'How long do I have?'

'We'll be rendezvousing with their shuttle in 26 hours.'

Tasha bit her lips together in resignation. 'I'm in big trouble, aren't I, Mrs Picard?'

'Yes you are, Mrs Data Yar. Yes you are.'


	41. Chapter 41

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Something Changed

-x-

Three

-x-

It was with a touch of trepidation that Picard stepped onto the USS Pasteur. It had been quite some time since he had last seen his former wife. It had been longer still since he'd been aboard a Starfleet vessel. The woman and the ships were all part of a life he'd left behind – that he'd come to accept being without now… but sometimes he wondered if they would be able to entice him back… the smile of the woman he'd loved… the excitement of being amongst the stars, venturing into the unknown. He recalled the sensation of boarding the Enterprise for the first time… had that been days ago, or decades? Had things really changed so much since then? Had _he_ changed so much?

He caught sight of his reflection in a smooth panel as he was escorted towards the Bridge. An old man, twisted, hunched and senile stared back at him. Of course, he had changed. Didn't time change everybody?

Beverly greeted them all with a warm smile and a hug, but something was obviously playing on the Doctor's mind. Well, thought Picard to himself, was it any wonder? It had been a long time since they'd seen one another, and all of a sudden here they were, asking her to take them on a dangerous mission into Klingon territory, against the will of Admiral Riker. Besides which, he was aware that his condition had worsened since they'd last met. Perhaps Beverly found that hard to witness. And then, there was the terrible business with Tasha. The last time the former senior Officers of the Enterprise D had all been together had been at Deanna's funeral, and now another of them was gone – and, since Data refused to admit that she was almost certainly dead, they couldn't even have a funeral to say goodbye. Tasha's disappearance left them all bereft, without closure.

Yes – it seemed to be Tasha's absence that was troubling Beverly the most. Picard noticed as they briefly exchanged notes on the plans in place to travel to the Devron system that his former wife concentrated largely on Data – noting the ring still on the android's wedding finger and giving him sad, sympathetic smiles. As soon as a lull fell in the conversation, she placed a hand upon his.

'Are you all right, Doctor?'

Beverly pressed her lips tightly for a moment. 'It's about Tasha.'

Data's eyes widened as he grabbed hold of the Doctor's arm, nervously. 'You have information.'

'More than just information.' Beverly gave him another small smile. Picard knew that smile. Beverly was about to impart something big – something that wasn't entirely good news.

'We found her,' Beverly announced. 'Alive,' she quickly added.

Data sighed deeply with relief. Picard noticed, however, that nobody was yet rejoicing at the announcement of Tasha's most recent evasion of death. Perhaps there was something about Beverly's tone that was perturbing to everybody – not just him.

'Is she all right?' Data asked.

Beverly held her gaze. 'Maybe you should be the judge of that.'

'She's on board?' Geordi interjected. 'She's right here?'

'In Recovery Bay 2…' began Beverly, but Data had already turned and started running towards the Turbolift.

'Wait,' cried the Doctor as they all hurried after him. 'You don't know where it is, yet!'

-x-

The room in question was only two decks down from the Pasteur's Bridge. It couldn't have taken them more than a minute to get there, but it felt to Picard like an age. The four old friends remained tensely silent throughout the short Turbolift ride, and as soon as the doors slid open, the android was off again; heading down the corridor far faster than the others could have hoped to have kept up with even back when they were young.

'Data,' warned Beverly as she ran after him, 'don't get angry. She's been through a lot.'

Data had stopped at the doorway to Recovery Bay 2. Beverly and Geordi managed to skid to a halt next to him within a couple of seconds as Picard straggled along behind on his old legs.

'Besides which,' added Beverly to Data, 'there's a lot of delicate equipment on this ship, and I've noticed things have a habit of getting broken when you get mad…'

Data was paying the Doctor no attention. As soon as Picard managed to make it to the doorway, he could see why. There was the sight he'd lost all hope of seeing again – Natasha Yar, sitting up in bed, alive and smiling.

'Hi, Honey,' she beamed with a slight slur to her voice, 'I'm home!'

Data didn't reply.

'Miss me?' Tasha added in the same odd tone.

This was wrong – there was bravado, there was using humour as a defence mechanism... but Tasha had been missing from her husband and adopted son for almost a year. It wasn't like her to be so wilfully insensitive. Picard frowned his concern at Beverly.

'She's on some heavy medication at the moment,' Beverly explained to the assembled group. 'It's made her a little giddy and...'

'How long has she been aboard?' Data interrupted, quietly.

'We received a distress signal from a civilian vessel four days ago,' Beverly told him. 'It was an old cargo ship from the Pakir Project – full of refugees. Imagine my surprise when I found Tasha in amongst them.'

'Like a bad penny,' interjected Tasha with a grin.

Data kept his attention fixed on Beverly. 'Are we not friends?'

'Sorry?'

'Are you not my friend? For four days, you have known that my wife is alive, and kept it from me?'

Beverly shook her head, apologetically. 'Believe me, I wanted to let you know. But my first duty is to my patients, and if a patient doesn't want me to contact their next of kin, I have to respect that.'

'I'm sorry,' Tasha added from her bed. 'But it'd been so long, and we'd parted on such bad terms, and since then, things have been pretty crazy, so… I guess I just needed a little more time…'

'_More_ time,' repeated Data in the same worryingly calm tone. '_More_ space…'

'Hey.' Geordi took his friend's arm. 'You're losing the big picture here, Data. Forget about the little things for now – she's alive! Aren't you glad to have your wife back in one piece?'

Tasha began to giggle. 'One piece…'

'Tasha was injured on the Pakir Project…' began Beverly, but Tasha quickly interrupted her, cutting the Doctor off.

'See, now,' Tasha slurred, 'Dr Captain Crusher Picard Crusher here might be taking a little too much credit in claiming to have found your wife, Data…'

'Tasha!' Beverly warned.

'…No,' continued Tasha, unabated, 'what Beverly actually found was _most_ of your wife.'

Tasha unceremoniously pulled the blanket away from her legs… or, what was left of them, at least. Her right leg was scarred but intact. The left leg, however, now ended in a bandaged stump halfway down the shin.

Picard found himself speechless at the sight. It was Geordi who was able to give voice to the obvious question.

'What the Hell happened?'

'Darnedest thing,' beamed Tasha, addressing neither Picard nor Geordi, but concentrating solely on her unmoving, unspeaking husband. 'Somebody shouted that the bad guys had rockets, we ducked into shelter, next thing I knew, I was covered in rubble and my foot had fallen off.' She shrugged, with a drunken air of laissez-faire. 'Guess that explains why I'm doped up to the eyeballs on pain meds, right? And maybe it explains why I needed more time before telling you what had become of me, too.'

Data just stared at her.

'Are you gonna say something?' Tasha prompted, 'do something? Get mad, get miserable… _anything_? Or are you just gonna stay in that doorway all day?'

Data stared at her for a moment longer, before finally finding his voice again. 'You are damaged.'

'Yep.'

'You are… an invalid.' Data paused. 'Is that the only reason that you returned from the Project – because you could no longer be a soldier?'

'They sent me back,' Tasha replied, growing more serious. 'The people I was working with – it wasn't exactly easy getting me a space on a refugee ship, but they did it – they stopped at nothing to make sure I'd get back safe…'

'Once the damage had already been done,' interjected Data.

Tasha nodded, looking down at her amputation. 'It was worth it.'

'Was it?' Data snapped, raising his voice for the first time. 'Was it worth a limb? Was it worth abandoning your family; causing us to fear for your life every day, never knowing your whereabouts or whether we would ever see you again? Was it worth robbing your child of his mother?'

'Nik's not a child,' retorted Tasha, 'he's sixteen.'

'_Seven_teen,' Data corrected. 'You missed his birthday.'

'My point's the same,' Tasha replied. 'Nikolai's a young adult. When I was his age I'd already fought my way off Turkana and started making my way in the universe…'

'Your childhood is now something for Nikolai to aspire to?' Data asked. 'Was the point of adopting Nadia and he not so that they could avoid the legacy of your youth?'

'So that they'd have a loving home, yes…'

'…and a mother who abandons him is "loving"…?'

'He doesn't _need_ a mother to hold his hand any more,' Tasha shouted. 'He doesn't need to be sheltered or coddled. He needs to go out there, start having adventures like he's always wanted to do.'

'And how would you know what our son wants any more? You have not seen him for over eleven months.'

'Not gonna round up to the nearest second this time?'

Data made a sudden, furious dash towards Tasha's bed, catching all of the onlookers unawares.

'Eleven months, nine days, fourteen hours, five minutes, thirty three seconds, during which I have waited and worried and cared for our son alone, and now I have finally found you, you _mock_ me?'

The others had hurried in after Data as fast as they could manage. They would never have caught him in time if he had intended to cause his wife any more physical injury, nor would any of them have had the strength to stop him. It was fortunate, then, that as ever, Data only vented his fury verbally, albeit inches from Tasha's face and at high volume.

'Our son has wanted to see the universe all his life,' Tasha replied, matching her husband's loud, enraged tone. 'Don't you dare try to tell me the last few months without me has changed all that. Don't you dare try to tell me he's not applying to the Academy…'

'You still wish for him to join Starfleet? After they took you from us?'

'Nobody took me anywhere!'

'And after he finds out how you lost your leg in combat – do you believe he will wish to join Starfleet then?'

'We'll just have to ask him,' shouted Tasha, 'won't we? Or has this stopped being about what he wants?'

'What are you implying?'

'You're smothering him, Data. You always have done, and my leg's just gonna make you do it even more.'

'I am trying to protect our son.'

'Protect him from what?'

'I am trying to protect him from becoming another Turkanan Soldier – another emotionally absent, insecure, over-compensating warrior always looking for a battle, just like his mother.'

'Rather that than another small, frightened little person hiding away behind dusty books and choosing safe mediocrity over the brilliance he's capable of, like you!'

'How dare _you_ accuse _me_ of hiding away, when you would clearly go to any lengths to escape your family…'

'I couldn't do it any more, Data! I couldn't tend another flower, bake another cake or hold another book group. It wasn't my life. And it was killing me to see it becoming _your_ life.'

'What is that supposed to mean? Am I supposed to believe that there is something shameful in being amongst the greatest academic minds on Earth?'

'But we're not academics.' Tasha indicated about the room, acknowledging the people present besides her husband for the first time. 'None of us. We're explorers – adventurers. Even those of us who've given up the stars still hold them in our hearts. And I see that same love for adventure in Nikolai's eyes – I always have. But you…? You're letting that adventurer in you die. You're becoming the sort of person who's rather read an account of something in a report, months after it had happened, than go out and witness it with your own eyes. That's not the Data I married.' She paused, watching him. 'What happened to you? What made you so afraid of the universe?'

'You happened to me, Tasha,' Data replied. 'You demanded that I care, and I was foolish enough to imagine that you might also care in return. Evidently, I was wrong.'

Before Tasha could get in another word, her husband turned and swiftly left the room.

Tasha gave the others in the room a bitter smile.

'I knew he'd be mad at me.'

'You fell out of contact for nearly a year,' Geordi reminded her with an uncommon sternness. 'He was out of his mind with worry - where did you go? What happened to you? What was that talk about rocket attacks – who uses rockets in this day and age?'

'Will you guys cut my patient a little slack?' Beverly argued. 'She just lost a limb – she nearly died!'

'Exactly,' countered Geordi. 'It's huge relief to see you alive, Tasha, but you just took off, and look at the damage that's been done – to you, and your family…'

'And what about you, Jean-Luc?' Tasha demanded, suddenly fixing her attention to Picard. 'Am I to expect a ticking-off from you, too?'

'It never used to be like this,' Picard murmured, sadly. 'Always at each others' throats, bearing grudges against one another, being ruled by anger and spite. I used to command a crew that was the envy of the Fleet. We worked so well together; we communicated; we enjoyed each other's company so much. But something changed. And now look at us. Look at…'

'Look at what, Sir?'

Captain Picard frowned. Seven expectant faces stared at him from their usual positions around the Observation room. Seven people – people who worked and socialised well together - waited for him to finish his sentence. It was seven years in to his command of the Enterprise, and they were his crew – his friends – practically his family.

'Look at what?' repeated Tasha.

Deanna blinked at him. 'It happened again, didn't it, Captain?'

Picard nodded. 'I was in the future. Heading towards the Devron system, although it was much more difficult to do so in that time period than it is now.' He paused. 'Everything then is more difficult than it is now.'

Riker grinned. 'Sounds ominous.'

'You have no idea how true that is, Number One,' breathed the Captain. 'No idea.'

-x-

By the time he arrived back in the future… or, the present… or whatever moment of time it was that saw him travelling into Klingon space aboard the Pasteur; he was walking down a corridor, alone. He appeared to be following a strange, metallic crunching sound issuing from a doorway. He stopped at the door. Data was sitting at the desk of a small, unused office; his forehead sunk into one hand and an uneven metal sphere being worried in the other.

'Mind if I join you?'

The android shook his head without speaking or looking up.

Picard found a small, uncomfortable metal stool on which to perch.

'Upsetting business,' he announced, purely as a means to breaking the tense, awkward silence. 'If it's any consolation, I'm not sure I would have been able to handle it any better than you have.'

Data muttered something that Picard couldn't make out.

'Beg your pardon?'

Data finally looked up. 'This is my own fault.'

Picard sighed. 'Oh come on. How can it be your fault? Tasha was on a covert operation to a dangerous colony…'

'Do you know why she took the mission – why she left?'

'Because they asked her to,' Picard hazarded. 'Because Starfleet's in her veins. Because she's lived with action and danger all her life and can't do without it…'

'Because I told her to,' Data added. 'I told her to go.'

'But you didn't mean it.'

'We were arguing every day,' Data replied. 'She had become miserable in Cambridge – that was obvious. It was I who first suggested her contacting Starfleet again. I thought that would satisfy her, without being called away from home. When she was offered the undercover mission, we fought and fought and fought until neither of us could stand it any further. She could have just left at any point – I never forced her to stay, but it was as though she needed dispensation from me to take the mission. So I told her to go, and that it was no concern of mine what became of her while she was away.'

The android buried his head back into his free hand. Picard leaned over and patted his old friend on the shoulder.

'She would have known you didn't mean it. You are terrible at lying.'

'And yet, she went,' replied Data with a weary tone. 'She left, and she stayed away until she was injured so badly that she could no longer fight. Would she have done that had she not felt so desperately repressed in Cambridge? Will I find, in a few years' time, my son reacting to his sheltered life at the University in the same way?'

Picard had no answer for that.

'I suffocated Tasha for years,' continued Data, toying again with the crumpled metal sphere in his hand. 'And I do not need her, nor Geordi, nor you to tell me that I do the same to Nikolai. I am aware that I am over protective of him, to the point of obsession. Tasha was right – I _am_ scared. I am so scared of losing what remains of my family, and my fear has diminished me.'

Picard sat back a little on the small stool. 'Data, I can't imagine the pain of losing a child. I don't know if I'd have the fortitude to ever recover from that sort of loss. You've lost three. Three! And I've watched you grieve for each of your daughters – I was there when you lost Lal, and when the full horror of her death finally hit you after installing your emotion chip; I was there that heartbreaking day when Abigail went into cascade failure; I walked alongside Nadia's coffin…'

'It was so small,' added Data in little more than a whisper. 'We should have evacuated Turkana when we had the chance. We knew that they would make that planet uninhabitable within a matter of years. All those sick children. All those little coffins.' He crunched at the metal sphere again, visibly fighting back tears. 'Is this supposed to be making me feel better?'

'I'm saying that nobody can blame you for being scared. It's a perfectly valid fear. They _will_ die, eventually – it's the fate of all biological beings.'

'And it is my fate to watch them die, and remain alone…'

'Not necessarily,' replied Picard, with a forced cheer. 'In case you didn't notice, we're about to cross over the Klingon border in a woefully under-defended ship. We could all be blown to smithereens in a few hours, taking you with us.'

Data stared across at him, incredulously. 'We can but hope.'

'I'm not exactly Deanna Troi when it comes to counselling, am I?'

'I have received better counselling from Worf.'

'Ouch.'

Data smiled - slightly, but at least genuinely.

Picard nodded at the metal ball in the android's hand. 'What is that thing?'

Data looked at the crumpled sphere, then across at Picard. 'It used to be the back of your chair.'

Picard glanced down at the jagged edge at the back of his stool. At least that explained why the damned thing was so uncomfortable. As if to prove his statement, Data began easily pulling the metal out flat.

'Worf's counselling?' Picard asked.

'Worf's counselling,' confirmed the android. 'If you are angry, break something. If you are miserable, break something. If you are distressed… you get the general idea.'

Picard smiled back, getting to his feet. 'Speaking of our Klingon friend, I should really check to find out whether we've been able to locate him yet. We'll be crossing the border soon, and the sooner we contact him to see if he can help ease our passage, the better.' He paused. 'It was a good idea of your son's to call in a favour from Worf. I'm glad he talked me into it.'

'How much persuasion did you really need?'

'I'm just saying that I appreciated Nikolai's input, Data.'

'I know.' Data stared down at the re-flattened backrest. 'What am I to do with that boy?'

'What do you mean?' Picard asked.

'You saw the look on his face when we were discussing the possibilities of a mission to the Devron System – danger, difficulty, riding roughshod over rules and regulations to reach forbidden territory – I had not seen him so excited for months. He tells me that he will be happy to study at Cambridge, but I know my son. He used to ask for tales of our adventures with Starfleet when he was two years old, and the concept has thrilled him ever since. I do not know how much longer I will be able to keep him in Britain.'

Picard sat down once more. 'Then don't try. Take it from somebody whose own father tried to keep him on the same small patch of land he'd known all his life – if he wants to explore the universe, then he will explore the universe, and attempts to stop him will only lead to bitterness between the pair of you. I know you still hold a lot of resentment towards Starfleet, but I think you know in your heart of hearts that you've exaggerated the negative impact it has had upon your life recently, and deliberately ignored the positives.'

'I thought that if Nikolai believed everything to be the fault of Starfleet, then he would not blame me.'

'Nikolai's not looking for anyone to blame for what's happened to your family,' Picard assured him. 'The only person who seems keen to attribute blame to anybody for that seems to be you – and you can't seem to make up your mind as to who you feel is truly fault.' Picard paused. 'Let him apply to the Academy, Data. You know they'd welcome him. They need youngsters like him – brilliant, courageous, questioning…'

'Chronically ill due to exposure to toxic weaponry in the womb and as a baby,' Data continued, 'brittle bones, fatigue, difficulty breathing, partially deaf, seventeen different incurable allergies that we know of… he has an artificial kidney, an artificial lung…'

'Geordi's VISOR never held him back in Starfleet,' Picard argued, 'nor did my artificial heart.'

'Nikolai is different!'

'Of course he's different. He's your son.' Picard got to his feet again. 'I really have to contact Worf. But promise me, you'll think about what we've spoken about. If you're worried about Nik's physical health, maybe you should encourage him to do more energetic pursuits… his strength might surprise you.'

'If that is an allusion to his fondness for rugby, I already know that he plays.'

Picard stopped at the door. 'I thought he was keeping it a secret from you.'

'So does he,' replied Data with a small smile. 'If he is to secretly rebel over anything, it may as well be a relatively harmless sport, so I put up a pretence that I have no idea. It makes him happy to believe he can outwit and deceive his father.'

'And isn't that what love's supposed to be all about?' Picard asked. 'Wanting to make them happy.'

Data grunted again, and turned his attention back to the mangled metal backrest. 'Tell that to my wife.'


	42. Chapter 42

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Something Changed

-x-

Four

-x-

'I have news.'

Tasha looked up from her lonely bed. 'Good or bad?'

'You're to have another visitor.'

'That's bad.'

'It's Worf.'

Tasha smiled through her medicated daze. 'That's good.'

Picard leaned against the door. 'He feels we'd be safer in Klingon space with a representative of the Empire on board.'

'I'll just be glad to see someone who can accept that I went off on a mission and got injured in the line of duty without berating me for it.'

Picard just nodded, silently.

'I know, I know,' Tasha sighed. 'There's a big difference between going on a covert mission and completely dropping out of communication for the best part of a year. But I had to stay, Jean-Luc. For Nik and Nadia's sake.'

'What do you mean?'

'It was the same situation that it had been on Turkana – almost exactly the same, that's why they contacted me. Starfleet had lost seven crewmen on the Pakir Project and needed people to sneak in and get them back before the Crime lords in charge took them hostage for weaponry, and without the Ferengi noticing – the Project is technically in their territory these days.'

'Our successful mission on Turkana IV would have made you the prime candidate to lead the mission,' Picard added.

'Turkana wasn't a success,' Tasha muttered. 'Sure, we got our guys out, but then we were gone – so disgusted with Ishara's betrayal that we didn't stop to think about all the innocent people stuck in the middle of that turf war. We could have offered sanctuary to the families and children there, but we didn't. We left them all to rot for another decade, and by the time they finally got out an official cry for help, there was nothing left to do for them but give homes to war-poisoned orphans and wait for them to die.'

'You know,' Picard interjected, 'less than an hour ago, your husband said almost the exact same thing to me about that mission.'

'Me and Data actually agree on something?' Tasha snorted a laugh. 'Wow. That hasn't happened for a long time. Well, maybe if he'd seen the Pakir Project he'd have understood why I stayed behind. It was the same thing – the same situation, warring factions, gradually escalating their weaponry… I felt I'd been given a second chance to do what we should have done in Turkana. There was this little group that helped us evacuate the crewmen – they'd been helping civilians escape the Project for a couple of years, but they needed help getting more people away from there. I _had_ to help them. Those Crime lords were using people as commodities – little kids in slave labour, women being bought and sold like meat, and the weapons they were using were already beginning to turn the atmosphere toxic. I couldn't just go back to running discussion groups and taking Nik to piano classes and leave them all there. They needed me!'

'I don't doubt that,' Picard replied, 'and I admire your motives, Tasha. But I believe a lot of the hostility you're facing now is because your friends don't think you realise how much Data and Nikolai needed you too.'

'Nik doesn't need me,' Tasha sighed. 'And not just 'cause he's growing up. I was never much of a parent to Nik. Not like Data is – fatherhood would be in his genes, if he had any. I figured, as long as Nik had Data to look after him, he'd do just fine without me.'

'And what about your husband?' Picard urged. '_He_ needs you. He cares for you, desperately.'

Tasha nodded, sadly. 'Remember those first few years aboard the Enterprise? Before he and I got married – before he even installed that damn emotion chip?'

'_Remember_ it?' Picard replied, 'I keep _going_ there!'

'He wasn't desperate then, was he?' Tasha continued. 'He wasn't emotionally dependant. He wasn't afraid.'

'He's lost a lot of loved ones…'

'It wasn't his daughters that did that to him,' Tasha added over Picard, 'it was me. This is all my fault.'

Picard rubbed his face. 'Not you, as well…'

'I pull him close, demand his affection, then when I get it, I panic and push him away again. I've been doing it for decades, since we first met. It was me who wanted to get married, me who wanted to adopt Nik and Nadia… and he always says he did it for himself, but he knew when he installed that emotion chip how much I wanted him to do it – how much I wanted him to be able to love me. And then I decided that that love was too strong, too possessive – and I ran away from it.' Tasha paused. 'I didn't just stay on the Pakir Project for the good of those colonists. I _was_ running away. I was reacting to his constant fretting by throwing myself into as much danger as possible – how passive-aggressive _that_?'

Tasha paused again. Unsure as to whether her question had been rhetorical or not, Picard waited quietly for her to continue.

'You know what my first thought was, after that rocket attack?' Tasha asked. 'Well, I mean, my _first_ thought was "ow, my leg", but after that – straight after that, I said to myself "wow – Data's gonna flip".'

'Your injury brings home to him how easily we're damaged,' Picard replied, 'how easily we can be killed. The same must go for Nikolai's illnesses. It must be terrifying for him to love creatures that are so comparatively fragile as much as he does.'

'And I feed that fear – after he's lost so much already – by walking out, cutting contact… finding yet another war to fight, at _my _age… just another Turkanan soldier, always looking for a war.' She paused. 'Data was right about me. _I'm_ the one who's turned him into that shrunken, frightened little person. I'm no good for him. I never have been.'

'Should you really be telling me all of this?'

Tasha smiled, drunkenly. 'Forgive me. These painkillers are making me much more candid than usual…'

'I mean,' clarified Picard, 'shouldn't you be telling all of this to your husband? Did you know, he's back there thinking up reasons why all of this is _his_ fault?'

'His fault? But that's…'

'Crazy,' interrupted a male voice from behind Picard. 'They've all gone completely crazy, haven't they?'

Picard closed his eyes with a weary sigh of annoyance at hearing the voice. When he opened his eyes again, Tasha and the medical bay were gone. Q wandered around in front of him with a shrug.

'Of course, I always thought you people were more than a little unbalanced to begin with – throwing yourselves around space in that little tin can; always prodding at things you don't even begin to understand; not to mention your unwavering belief that the relationships you forged then would be able to last until the end of your lives.'

'What are you trying to prove, Q?'

'I have nothing _to_ prove, Mon Capitan. I am not the childless, unmarried man who has surrounded himself with orphans, foundlings and a veritable posse of daddy issues on legs.' Q folded his arms and gave Picard a knowing smirk. 'You thought you'd managed to set yourself up as Patriarch to a nice little surrogate family there, didn't you?'

'I did no such thing. I selected the crew that I did because…'

'It doesn't last, you know,' interrupted the Immortal. 'Friendships – families, even… they always come apart, given sufficient time. Love is temporary between you people, despite your constant blind protestations that it's the one thing that truly can last forever. Do you realise that now, Jean-Luc?'

'Is that what all of this is really about?' Picard asked. 'All this trouble just to belittle the bonds that my crew have forged with myself and each other?'

'No,' replied Q in an indifferent tone. 'That was just an extra little observation – a footnote, if you will – in the account of your miserable, abject failure.'

'This "trial" of yours,' Picard recalled, wearily.

Q smiled. 'A simple trial? Tush pish, Jean-Luc – that's been going on for years, and you haven't even noticed it. No, this particular failure is all down to you, I'm afraid.'

'What do you mean?'

'What I said a moment ago – about prodding at things you don't comprehend, like the barely evolved apes that you are… you were bound to destroy something sooner or later – who would have thought that it would be your own pathetic species that would cease to be as a result of your ham-fisted meddling?'

'I don't understand.'

'No,' replied Q. 'That's the problem. You never do.'

-x-

'…now?'

Picard blinked, and rubbed his eyes. 'Beg pardon?'

Worf's attempt at a level tone did nothing to mask his impatience. 'What do you believe should be our next course of action, following this latest setback?'

'Setback, Lieutenant?'

'_Governor_,' corrected Governor Worf.

'Governor…' Picard rubbed his eyes again. The Klingon in front of him was no longer the young Officer that he had seen only moments ago, but an ageing statesman. 'Of course. You said you would be joining us.'

'I have been aboard the Pasteur for hours now,' Worf frowned. 'You greeted my arrival.'

'I was in the past again,' Picard muttered. 'And… and somewhere else, too.' He paused. 'Q. Q was with me.'

'_Q_?' A weary sigh of annoyance went around the Pasteur's Bridge from the members of his former crew.

'I thought we'd seen the back of him,' Geordi grumbled. 'What does he want this time?'

'Largely, it seemed he just wanted to hurl insults at me and talk himself round in circles…'

'Same old Q,' Beverly said with a joyless smile.

'But there was something that he said,' Picard continued, 'something about the destruction of my species… I have a horrible feeling that he might be trying to help us again.'

'Uh-oh,' added Geordi.

'Did he provide any information as to how this destruction may occur, or how it might be prevented?' Data asked.

'I'm afraid that would prove a little _too_ helpful,' Picard replied. 'This is Q we're talking about, after all. No, he was as opaque as ever. But I believe that it's him who's been making me flit between different points in my life. I assume that this is how he intends to be of any assistance.' Picard paused again, to think. 'The anomaly in the Devron System remains the constant in every timeline. We've already seen it, in the past. Perhaps that will give us the answers to…' he trailed off, noticing the expressions on the faces of his old crew. 'What?'

'We have been at the co ordinates you supplied at the Devron system for ten minutes now,' explained Data. 'There is nothing there.'

'Don't you remember?' added Beverly.

'What?' Picard asked, flatly. He found the nearest monitor to hand, and stared at it. There was nothing to be seen but black space. A sensation of panic began to rise – there had been something there – a vast anomaly – there was no way that it could have healed itself over a mere few decades. If anything, it should have been even bigger… if, that was, it was real. What if he hadn't been in the past? What if that, and the anomaly, and the appearance of Q, had all just been in his mind? What if he had brought all these people into danger over nothing but the fevered hallucinations of a mad old man?

'This doesn't make any sense…'

'We could remain here and investigate further,' suggested Data, 'although the wisdom of such an action would be highly questionable.'

'My presence aboard notwithstanding,' Worf added, 'we are still in a Federation ship, in Klingon space without permission. I would recommend that we rectify that state of affairs as soon as possible.'

Picard turned to his ex wife. 'It's your ship, Beverly…'

'It's your mission, Jean-Luc, and your call.'

Picard gazed at his former crew. They still trusted him with their lives. Even with his sickness, even though his thoughts were addled and he had dragged them all to locate an anomaly that wasn't there, they still trusted him to make the best decision. Perhaps relations between his old friends weren't as bad as he'd thought after all. Perhaps…

'Captain,' barked the Pasteur's Tactical Officer, 'two Klingon ships just uncloaked.'

Beverly turned to her Officer, her eyes wide with sudden alarm. 'Hail them. Maybe Worf can…'

'They're firing up their torpedoes…'

'Worf!' Beverly seated herself tensely in her Captain's chair. 'Is there anything you can…'

One of the Klingon ships fired.

If the Tactical Officer had had anything else to add, the computer bank that exploded into her chest as a result of the direct hit ensured that she would say no more, ever again. The Officer fell backwards and landed in a bedraggled heap at Picard's feet.

'Susan,' breathed Beverly, gazing at her fallen Officer in sorrow.

Then Picard saw his former wife do something he'd never witnessed her do before – within a heartbeat, she shook off her shock and grief – pushed it down inside of her to allow out at a more convenient time, and took stern command again. He'd had to do the same thing countless times before himself as a Captain.

'I need someone on Tactical, this instant,' Beverly ordered. She stopped Worf before he'd managed to get to his feet. 'Worf, I need you to keep trying to get through to those ships. Call them off!'

Worf turned back to his communication attempts. 'They are not responding…'

The second ship fired, rocking the Pasteur severely.

'I need someone on Tactical, now!'

A young Vulcan Science Officer stepped wordlessly up to the half burnt-out Tactical console.

'Damage report, Lieutenant?' Beverly called.

The Vulcan stared at the console. 'One moment, Captain. I have never been stationed at this post before. I must familiarise myself with…'

They were hit again. The Pasteur lurched wildly, causing Picard to cling to a chair in order to stay upright. There was a bang behind him. He turned his head to see the Turbolift doors opening, considerably less smoothly than they should. Within the Turbolift was Tasha Yar, propping herself up against the wall and with a crutch in each hand.

'I think somebody's firing at us,' shouted the invalid from the Turbolift.

'You should be in bed,' Beverly called back to her.

With difficulty, Tasha started manoeuvring herself onto the Bridge on her crutches. 'And die in a lonely room, sitting on my derriere? I'll pass, thanks. Hi, Worf.'

Worf shot a glance at Beverly. 'Is she drunk?'

'After a fashion.'

'I'm legless!' Tasha beamed, delighted at her own joke.

'That colloquialism is specific to the British Isles,' muttered Data. 'Nobody else will understand the reference. Besides which…'

'Not really the time, Data,' interrupted Geordi as they were hit for a third time.

'Why do you have a Science Officer at Tactical?' Tasha asked.

'Lieutenant Vasquez was killed at her post,' explained the Vulcan. 'There were no other Tactical Officers available…'

'Well, there is now,' Tasha replied, hobbling over to Tactical.

'Tasha,' cried Beverly, 'you're out of your mind!'

'Pain meds or no pain meds,' Tasha replied, 'the chips are down and the Klingons are pissed – do you really want some spore-analysing Vulcan pressing the buttons that make things go Kablooey, or the best damn Tactical Officer you've ever served with – no offence, Worf.'

Tasha didn't wait for a reply from either Beverly or Worf, but barged the Vulcan out of the way with one of her crutches. 'Be a doll and help me keep upright,' she muttered to the deposed Science Officer, 'honestly - the one post that doesn't have a chair…' She prodded at what remained of the console. 'Oh, dear.'

'What's the damage?'

'Everybody, grab a rubber band,' announced Tasha.

'What do you…'

'Well, with the weapons array on this ship, we might as well just flick balled-up paper at the Klingons.'

'What about the shields?' Beverly asked. 'We'd better divert all the power we can to strengthening them before…'

'What do you think it is I'm already doing?' Tasha interrupted, still jabbing at the console.

'Well, you'd better do it fast,' Geordi added, 'they're about to fire again…'

They were hit once more. The Pasteur rocked violently.

'Did it work?' Beverly asked, looking up at Tasha.

'Well,' Tasha slurred, 'we're still alive, so yes.'

'How many more hits can they take now that you've strengthened them?'

Tasha looked down at her monitor. 'None.'

'That's it?' Geordi asked.

Tasha shrugged. 'This ship's just not built for fighting. And we can't run – they knocked out our warp power in the first hit.'

Data turned around to face her. 'All of that, just to buy us all a few more seconds?'

Tasha looked back at her husband, suddenly serious. 'Maybe a few more seconds is all we really need…'

'Another ship's decloaking,' interrupted Geordi, urgently.

'_Another_?' Hopeless as her situation was, Beverly managed a small, exasperated smile in Picard's direction. 'They aren't taking any chances, are they?'

And, as hopeless as _his_ situation was, Picard couldn't help but draw some comfort – some joy - from his ex wife's reaction. Years ago, he had believed that if that smile was the last thing he ever saw, he could have died a happy man. Well, perhaps that was what was about to happen. If he was to perish now, at least it was a death up amongst the stars, at the side of the woman he'd loved so dearly, with his old friends around him. And the Klingons sending three ships to destroy their one… well, it was ludicrous, but at least it was impressive. He would go out with a bang, rather than fading away.

'Heading straight towards us,' Geordi continued. He broke off suddenly, surprised, then looked up at his friends, a wide grin spreading over his face. 'Well, well, well. Now there's an old girl I never thought I'd see again.'

Beverly's eyes widened as she guessed at Geordi's meaning. 'Not the Enterprise…?'

Geordi put the vessel in question on screen.

There she was – the other love of Picard's life, speeding towards the attacking Klingon ships with phasers blazing.

'Will Riker,' Picard smiled. 'He followed us. Perhaps the maverick side to him is still alive after all.'

There was an explosion on the screen – the Enterprise had attacked the Klingons so furiously that one had been destroyed. The second was quick to turn tail.

'Good old Will,' Tasha beamed, giddily.

'Good old Will,' echoed Worf with an insincere hollowness and a scowl so deep that bats could probably nest in it.

'Don't start celebrating yet,' added Geordi as he pulled up a damage report, 'the warp core wasn't just put offline by that attack – it's breaching as we speak.'

'Warp core breach…' repeated Picard, faintly.

The thought struck him – he should have witnessed the anomaly growing through time, but instead, it seemed, it was shrinking. It had been smaller seven years after Farpoint, and now it had either vanished entirely, or was so microscopic that it couldn't be detected. What if it wasn't shrinking so much as growing backwards? After all, if time was no longer running in a single straight line for him, who was to say that time was not running backwards for this anomaly? What if their warp core breach was what caused the creation of the anomaly in the first place?

Riker's face suddenly filled the screen; as irritable as it had appeared when they'd spoken in Cambridge.

'Save your thanks for later,' the Admiral barked. 'Your warp core's in breach. We're beaming you out of there.'

'Wait…' began Picard.

But Riker was no longer on the Pasteur's screen. More to the point, Picard was no longer on the Pasteur. He was on the bridge of the Enterprise. For a heartbeat, he wondered if he was back in time again – the Captain once more. But, no. He was still an elderly civilian. He had merely been beamed onto his old ship – straight onto the bridge so that his old Number One could do what he'd probably have done if he were still in command; namely, give the senile old man who had just endangered a Starfleet vessel and its crew, not to mention the uneasy peace between the Federation and the Klingons on a hunch a piece of his mind.

'Ambassador,' greeted the Admiral in a tone about as far from one of welcome as Picard could imagine. Riker cast a disapproving eye over his disobedient former crewmates, but blinked in surprise when he saw Tasha, still propping herself up against the young Vulcan officer. 'Tasha! You were M.I.A!'

'Well,' Tasha replied, 'I guess I'm F.I.A. now. Most of me, anyway.'

Riker sucked through his teeth at the state of Tasha's leg. 'So I see.' He nodded at Data. 'And you found her before I did, Data. Didn't I tell you you'd be the first to know?'

'I was not the first to know,' Data replied with a dark glance towards Tasha and Beverly, 'I merely stumbled upon her whereabouts before you discovered them, Admiral. Which says little for how thorough your search for her was…'

But Riker had already turned his attention on to Worf. 'And Governor Worf. How kind of you to accompany your former Captain into a hornet's nest without so much as a Klingon escort. I can't believe you'd be arrogant enough to believe that the word of a Governor of some far-flung outpost of the Empire could be enough to get a Starfleet vessel safely through Klingon space…'

'How kind of _you_ to refuse any assistance to _your_ former Captain, forcing him to seek more perilous alternatives,' Worf retorted. 'You dare accuse _me_ of arrogance, when…'

'In case it's escaped you gentlemen's attention,' Beverly interrupted, 'my ship is still imminently about to explode.'

'We're at a safe distance,' Riker assured her, 'and we've beamed everybody who was on board onto the Enterprise. Now, unless you've got any potted plants you want us to rescue…'

The Pasteur exploded.

'Oh, no,' sighed Picard.

Beverly put a hand on his shoulder. 'Thank you for your sympathy, Jean-Luc. She was a good little ship…'

'It's not that,' Picard replied. 'I think we might have just started something terrible. I think this might be what eventually ends us all.'


	43. Chapter 43

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Something Changed

-x-

Five

-x-

'So.' He laid a hand on hers. 'You're back.'

'I am.' Tasha managed a smile.

'It's such a relief. We all thought we'd never see you again.'

'So everyone keeps telling me.' She cocked an eyebrow. 'You're not mad at me too, are you, Will?'

'Right now, I'm too happy to see you alive and too busy being mad at certain other members of your party to be pissed off at you as well.' Riker paused. 'But Data was frantic with worry, you know. The impact you make on him is capable of bringing a mean side out in that android, you know.'

'I know,' sighed Tasha.

'And although Nik hid it well, everyone could tell he was beside himself too.'

Tasha sighed again, and slid her head into her free hand. 'Am I a terrible mother? A terrible wife?'

'What would I know about parenting,' Riker muttered, 'or about marriage? Hell – what do I even know about being a good partner? You're asking the wrong person.' He paused. 'I _do_ know a thing or two about what makes a good Starfleet Officer, though. How many people do you think you managed to help escape the Pakir Project, again?'

Tasha shrugged. 'Hard to say. Couple of hundred. Maybe more. All of a sudden, I don't feel like that makes a difference any more.'

'That'll be the change of pain meds kicking in,' Riker told her. 'You'll be able to focus much better than you did under the other ones, but apparently they can leave you feeling a little depressed.'

'Not depressed,' Tasha replied, 'sober. The real world's finally caught up with me, and it hates me.'

Will looked up from the table. 'Speaking of being hated…'

Tasha followed his gaze to see Worf, Beverly, Geordi and Data at the door of Ten Forward. She nodded, resignedly. 'Speaking of the real world.'

Beverly had already spotted them, and started making her way over, followed by Geordi. Worf and Data remained close to the door, sidling over to the bar as though both hoped not to have been seen.

Riker smiled bitterly to himself. 'Looks like our old friend still doesn't want to speak with me…'

'…and my husband still doesn't want to speak with _me_,' completed Tasha.

'It's your husband I was talking about,' replied Riker. 'I just take it as read that Worf has nothing to say to me. Have done for many years now.' He looked up at Geordi and Beverly with a forced cheer as they approached. 'So. How do you like the old girl? I keep her in pretty good shape, huh?'

'When is this going to stop?' Beverly snapped. 'This ridiculous grudge?'

'Which grudge?' Will asked, innocently.

'We've accumulated quite a few, between us,' Tasha added.

'All of them,' replied Geordi, with exasperation. 'Worf's just clinging to a memory of anger right now – I bet it would only take a few honest words to dissipate that. And Data… well, Data's angry at everybody and everything at the moment; you two are no exception.'

'But I am,' Tasha interrupted, 'because I'm his wife. And he's not angry at everyone, he's angry at me. It's just that his anger has a particularly wide, unfocussed range, and it happens to hit passers-by from time to time.'

There was a moment's silence, as if everybody was waiting for somebody else to speak.

'You're all wondering whether I even care any more,' Tasha added, 'aren't you?'

Another pause.

'Of course, I do,' Tasha continued. 'Of course, I care. Of course, I'm sorry for having left him and having let him find out I'm still alive the way he did. Just…' she trailed off, spotting a new figure in Ten Forward's doorway. 'Oh, God.'

Jean-Luc Picard, still in his pyjamas, made a hasty hobble towards the table.

'You drugged me,' he croaked.

'You were raving,' Beverly murmured, 'delirious. It was for your own protection.'

'It doesn't matter right now,' replied Picard, frantically. 'I've been to the past… present… past again. It isn't the Pasteur exploding that causes it – it's the tachyon pulses. And I know what it is that we have to do, only we have to do it in all three time zones…'

Worf and Data had also witnessed the shambolic entrance of their former Captain, and had made their way over to the table in concern.

'Do what in all three time zones?' Worf asked.

'Save humanity,' Picard cried, feverishly, 'we have to save humanity!'

-x-

They had to save humanity.

And while she would always trust Jean-Luc Picard's word, it was Data's faith in the proposed solution that really sold to her that what they were doing could work. There weren't too many aspects of life in which Tasha would instinctively understand that her husband always knew best – matters of science was one of those rare exceptions.

Heading straight into the centre of where the anomaly was going to end up _could_ work… it was the best chance that they had, certainly – it could also break the ship apart. She smiled a little to herself. First the Pakir Project, then the Pasteur, now this… she'd gone looking for adventure, and she'd certainly found it. Certain death seemed to be awaiting her at every turn. The constant sense of peril was terrible and wonderful at the same time. She brushed her wedding ring with her thumb. But what was greater, she asked herself, the fear of dying or the fear of loving – of being loved – of being needed? Was it really just the tedium of domesticity that she'd been trying to escape?

With the help of her crutches, she hobbled over to the helm and, with difficulty, took a seat. Already seated at his old Ops post, her husband turned to her.

'Does Admiral Riker not require "the best damn Tactical Officer he ever served with"?'

'No chair,' Tasha explained, 'and no handy Vulcan to lean on this time. Guess Will doesn't want to send a monoped to do a biped's job. Anyway, I can be pretty handy at the helm too. I know all the buttons to press. And _this_ post has a chair. Nice comfy one, too.'

'Is it comfortable? I never noticed.'

Data turned back to his console, but after a couple of half-hearted prods at it, faced her again.

'If I were to ask you why you did this – why you ran away – should I expect to receive a genuine, comprehensible answer from you?'

'No,' Tasha admitted, 'but only because I don't have a genuine, comprehensible answer even for myself. Not a satisfactory one, anyway. Maybe I'll never know for certain why I did it.'

'If I may offer a suggestion?' Data asked.

'Sure.'

'I believe that you did it because you are impulsive, contrary and wilful.'

Tasha stared at her husband, and let out a small laugh. 'Maybe. I know you hate that.'

'Not so. All of those traits are important aspects of your personality. Without them, you would not be the woman that I love.'

'So, you _do_ still love me…'

'Of course. Whether I can trust you any more, however, is a different matter.'

Tasha fell silent for a moment, looking down at the wedding ring that she had never removed once since she had been away. 'Do you want a divorce?'

'No,' Data replied, plainly. 'Do you?'

Tasha shook her head. 'But we can't go back to the way things were before either, can we?'

'No,' Data murmured. 'I believe you have made your position on that matter quite plain.'

'_My_ position?' Tasha protested. 'You're the one who said you can't trust me any more!'

'I did not state that. I merely called your trustworthiness and reliability into question.'

'But I've always been unreliable, Data. You know me…'

'Yes, I do.' Data paused. 'Your son and I miss you very much.'

'I miss you both, too.'

Data nodded down at her injured leg. 'I can create a prosthetic lower leg and foot for you,' he told her. 'I have successfully attached such prosthetics to the nerve endings of amputated limbs on several occasions – you would have no physical sensation in it, but you would have autonomy over the movements of the foot. You would be able to walk and run as well as ever… turn cartwheels, if you pleased. You would not, however, be able to dance. You have never been capable of that.'

'Let me guess,' Tasha sighed. 'You can make me a new foot as long as I go back to Cambridge.'

'That is where all of my equipment is,' Data told her. 'Besides, both Nikolai and myself would dearly like for you to return home.'

'I knew you'd do this,' Tasha replied. 'I knew you'd try to bring me back, and I knew you'd try to fix me. But didn't I just say, things can't go back to how they were.'

'I am asking you to come home,' clarified Data. 'At present, that is in Cambridge, but if that continues not to suit you, we shall simply have to change the location to which we allocate the term "home".'

Tasha blinked. 'You'd leave Cambridge, for me?'

'Perhaps I should have done it some time ago – perhaps that would have kept you from feeling the need to escape.'

'But Cambridge is your life!'

Data gave her a small smile. '_You_ are my life. You and Nikolai.'

'Exactly,' countered Tasha, wondering to herself why exactly she was arguing against the dream scenario of getting out of Cambridge with her marriage intact, 'there's Nik to think about, too…'

'If we left, Nikolai would be free to stay on and study in Cambridge with whatever support from us he would require,' Data replied, thoughtfully. 'However, it has been persuaded to me recently that we should pay more attention to what Nikolai actually wants to do, rather than what we feel will be best for him. He may surprise us both. He has a fragile life, but he should be free to live it however he wishes – free from your expectations as well as my protectiveness.'

Tasha stared at him. 'I think you're right about Nik. But abandoning the university…? all this came about because I was living a life that I didn't want to for your sake. If you gave up Cambridge and all your work there, you'd be doing the same thing. We'd end up right back where we started.'

'I am more adaptable than you give me credit for,' Data told her. 'As is the university.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'The Holo Technology Department have been sending out memos to all academic staff,' Data explained, 'appealing for one of us to assist them in their trial run of Remote Lecturing. Were I to accept, I would be able to go anywhere that had access to a holographic imaging chamber. Holo Tech believe that they would be able to allow me to continue to conduct fully interactive lectures to students still in Cambridge through simultaneous live holo feeds. They would send the programme to the computers controlling whichever holographic chamber I was in, which would project a live hologram of the lecture theatre in Cambridge around me, while at the same time projecting a live hologram of myself into the lecture theatre. As for the rest of my studies; my theses and so on… I can perform them anywhere that I wished. I do not even particularly need my books; electronically, they would all fit onto a single isolinear chip, although I do prefer the smell of paper…'

'But where would we go? You'd still need a pretty powerful holo chamber…'

'Around as powerful as a standard Starfleet vessel's holodeck,' replied Data, with a false innocence. 'And with you still being an active Starfleet officer… wherever should we live? It _is_ a puzzle...'

Tasha tried to mask her smile, and pointed a finger at her husband in what she hoped came across as a peevish manner. 'You hate Starfleet.'

'Hate is a very strong word,' Data replied. 'It had been a very long time since I'd set foot aboard a Starship before the recent events that brought us here. Since I left Earth I have been reunited with many of my fellow officers, found you, invaded enemy territory, been shot at, been pulled at the last moment from a breaching vessel… and now I am on the Bridge of the Enterprise D, about to send the ship into an anti-time anomaly which may destroy us all, in the hope of rectifying the damage our own tachyon pulses caused to the fabric of timespace, thus saving humanity.'

Tasha let down her guard and offered him a wide grin. 'Just like old times, right?'

Data nodded. 'And you were correct earlier, Tasha. This seat _is_ comfortable.'

And there it was – that old spark, that old adventure in her husband's eyes. It hadn't been extinguished after all; just buried under a mountain of fear. Love had brought him to fear losing those he cherished, and personal misfortune had caused that fear to take control of him. But something now had changed. Perhaps it had been Tasha's return from apparent death; perhaps now they had found one another again he had been able to reflect on their relationship just before she had left, and how much his fears stifled those he held dear; perhaps it was simply being up in the stars again. Whatever it was, it seemed that she was beginning to get her old Data back. After all she'd done to him, she actually had a chance of getting him back.

'You know,' Tasha added, 'it was no picnic getting up to the Bridge of the Pasteur on one leg while we were being shot at.'

'I can imagine.'

'And I never thought with a ship of such limited weaponry I'd be able to do more than gain us a few extra seconds, once I got there.'

'It would have been uncharacteristically unrealistic for you to have assumed otherwise.'

'Well?' She asked, 'aren't you gonna ask why I went to the trouble of getting out of bed in the first place?'

'I am not,' replied Data, 'because I know your reasoning behind that act already. You did what I would have done were I alone and injured with moments left to live, with you a few floors above, furious with me due to some unresolved issue. Were I in that position, I would be compelled to locate you, to say that I was sorry and that I still loved you, and so that I would be able to die in your presence. Was that not why you came to the Pasteur's Bridge?'

'Yes,' smiled Tasha, softly. She gazed at the anomaly on the screen in front of her as the ship approached it. 'Looks like we may be given the opportunity to die together again sooner than we'd thought.'

'And yet,' replied Data, 'you have still not apologised.'

'When you two have quite finished,' interjected Riker, taking up the gap between their two posts, 'this is the Bridge of the Enterprise, not a marriage counselling session.'

Data opened his mouth to give the Admiral a peevish retort, but Tasha noticed the friendly smile playing around Will's lips before her husband had chance to speak.

'Sir, yes Sir,' she replied, playfully. 'We just felt it would be apt to put our affairs in order, since the human race is in danger of being obliterated, taking us with it. Wouldn't you say?'

Riker turned and feigned outrage at the rest of the Bridge. Tasha saw Picard shake his head in mock disapproval and, more heartening still, saw Worf give a brief, wry smile – silently, discreetly sharing in the moment of togetherness. It seemed that Will had made his peace with his old crewmates as well.

'Well, now that the Yar marriage has been saved,' Riker announced, 'perhaps we could turn our attentions to the less pressing issue of the destruction of all life on Earth.'

'Take us into the anomaly, Commander Yar,' ordered Picard.

Tasha glanced across at her husband again as the ship entered the anomaly.

'In case we don't make it out,' she murmured, 'I am sorry for what I did. And I do want to come home. And I love you.'

Data just smiled down at his console. 'I know.'

-x-

It felt good to be back in just the one timeline, Picard mused. It felt good to be rid of the anomaly, with humanity intact… although, he didn't believe he could ever be sure whether humanity was ever really in peril, or whether it was all just part of Q's games.

That was another thing to be pleased about. He seemed to be rid – in the short term, anyway – of that immortal menace's attention. And all he'd had to do had been to lead his crew into simultaneous destruction in three different times to have Q put everything back to the way it was.

Only, he didn't quite _feel_ back the way he was. He'd revisited his first day as Captain of the Enterprise, as well as seeing a hypothetical future, full of fractured, but ultimately fixable relationships. That was the sort of thing that was bound to make a man contemplative about the friendships he had forged, and those that had forged around him.

It had made him suddenly determined to do a certain thing that he had never done before. Not only that, but he was aware that he needed to bring a particular young woman along with him.

He stopped outside Tasha Yar's quarters and signalled her to his presence. There was a moment's pause before the door was opened to reveal Tasha in the doorway, brushing her teeth. Tasha blinked in surprise, her toothbrush frozen for a moment between her jaws.

'Gabdin?' She enquired, her mouth full of foam. 'Wud… Schoo-bee…' She darted to her sink and spat out the mouthful of toothpaste. 'What brings you here?'

'I intend to join in Will Riker's poker game tonight,' Picard announced.

'That's great,' replied Tasha, 'they'll be thrilled. But if you've come to me looking for hints on the game, I'm afraid I don't play either.'

'I know. That's why I really think you should come too.'

Tasha looked at him, then shook her head with a faint laugh. 'I don't think...'

'Why not?' Picard asked. 'I'm sure you'd enjoy it if you went.'

Tasha narrowed her eyes at him. 'This is about the future you saw, isn't it?'

'In a way,' Picard replied. 'Although what I saw is just a possibility – it's not certain to happen. If that one specific outcome was a definite, I wouldn't have told you all what I saw. But I got the feeling that it still unnerved you.'

'Well, it certainly unnerved Deanna,' retorted Tasha. 'She's pretty good at hiding it, but who wouldn't be upset to learn that in the future you visited she'd died an early, unnecessary death?'

'I'm not talking about Deanna Troi, I'm talking about you. You've been particularly reclusive ever since I told you the possible future I saw for you and Data.'

Tasha leaned against a wall, with her arms folded and a serious expression. 'I'm in love with him, Jean-Luc. You know that. I'm in love with him, and he can't love me back. So the concept of the two of us being in a torrid, passionate relationship of furious break-ups and make-ups makes my palms go kinda sweaty. But then you told me that I'd abandoned him… that I'd hurt him, and made him worry about me so much that it had turned him into something he's not…'

'I imagine it's hard for you to imagine being unkind to someone you love…'

'No, you see, that's just it. I can imagine it all too well. I _am_ unkind to the people I love, and I can be very unkind to him.' She sighed. 'What you told me troubled me because I can picture myself doing it. And now he's got that stupid emotion chip just sitting in that box, waiting to give him the capacity to be hurt. And it's bound to be me that hurts him.'

'Tasha,' sighed Picard, 'what I saw in the future was not one person deliberately distressing the other. There was no victim, no perpetrator… what I saw was a breakdown of communication between two people who loved one another, but had emotional flaws – just like all of us. The future Data responded to emotional hurdles by keeping those he cared for in as safe as environment as he could, to such an extent that he stifled them. You, conversely, responded to emotional problems by fleeing your family, and hiding away from them.'

'And that's what you see me doing already, right?' Tasha replied. 'Trying to deal with my feelings for Data by avoiding him – hiding away from social events?'

'Perhaps,' Picard admitted. 'Perhaps that reclusiveness and denial is a character trait that I've noted you exhibiting for some time now. Believe me, I'm the last person who would want to drag someone who's content with being solitary out to a social gathering, only… Only, it never seems to actually make you happy. It didn't in the future, and I don't think it does now.'

Picard paused. Tasha had no reply to his observation, or at least none that she was willing to give voice to.

'And certainly don't allow yourself to be consumed with worry over the emotional wellbeing of Mr Data,' continued Picard. 'I can see how one could view Data's emotion chip as something of a Pandora's Box - a physical object potentially capable of releasing terrible things, as we both witnessed when he was under Lore's control. But we don't know that he'll ever want to use it again. Even if he does, you may well be surprised at his fortitude. The Data that I saw in the future was one who had suffered terrible personal misfortunes – far worse than romantic unkindness – and, although I wouldn't describe him as being completely well balanced, he was still able to cope, far better than I imagine I would, under the same circumstances. I witnessed his anger towards you…'

'Who could blame him for that, given what had happened?' Interjected Tasha.

'Certainly not you,' Picard replied. 'And I think it might hearten you to know that, despite everything, your marriage remained intact. The last conversation I heard between your future selves was one of hope – you were planning the next step in your lives together, working to overcome the problems that had led you to the situation you had found yourselves in.'

Tasha paused, mulling this over. 'But you said that future would never happen…'

'It does not _have_ to happen,' Picard replied. 'Whether it does or not depends on the decisions we make between now and then – whether we allow our friendships to fall apart, or protect them against anger, jealousy and bitterness – whether we repeat our mistakes, or learn from them…'

'…Whether I let myself be the sort of person who'll hide away from things I find socially or emotionally difficult, or learn to face them and overcome them like a rational person,' added Tasha.

'I didn't say that.'

Tasha grinned down at the floor. 'No. You just implied it. Heavily.'

'So, how about it?' asked Picard. 'The two hermits finally joining in this damned card game they've all been itching for us to play for all those years?'

Tasha continued to smile down at the floor. Although she was shaking her head, he knew that she only needed one more nudge.

'Come on. It'll be worth it just to see the expressions on their faces when we gatecrash.'

Tasha laughed a little. 'That's true.' She pushed herself away from the wall. 'Watch out for Deanna Troi. I hear she Hustles.'

Tasha allowed Picard out first. He waited for her in the corridor and presented his arm to her, which she took, cheerfully. As they walked, he saw her smiling strangely to herself.

'What is it?'

'In that room there's gonna be you and Beverly; me and Data; Will and Deanna and Worf… that's an awful lot of sexual tension for one Poker table.'

'Well,' replied Picard with a slight shrug, 'at least Geordi's not in love, or out of love, or thinking about being in love with anyone there.'

'Please.' Tasha cocked an eyebrow. 'Geordi might actually be more in love with Data than I am – he just doesn't want to sleep with him.' She paused. 'At least, I don't think he does. We really are a strange, incestuous little family, aren't we?'

'A little family,' repeated Picard. 'Yes. Yes, I think we are.'


	44. Chapter 44

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

The Point of no Return

-x-

One

-x-

'Yar.'

Tasha turned round to face the young man, clad in 18th Century Deckhand garb, who had just addressed her. 'Can I help you?'

'No,' clarified the young Deckhand, 'I was just saying "Yarrrrr".' He paused, the confidence speedily trickling from his expression as Tasha failed to comprehend. 'You know… like a pirate?'

'But we're not being pirates,' frowned Tasha, faintly. She indicated around the Holographic sailing ship. 'This is supposed to be a British Navy vessel…'

The young man, now visibly cringing with the embarrassment of his joke having bombed, started backing away. 'It doesn't matter. Forget it. I'm just gonna… go into a corner and swab something…'

Tasha decided to put the poor kid out of his misery. 'No, it's OK. I get the joke. It's just that it's one that I've heard several times before, including five times so far today.'

'Oh.' The young man pulled an embarrassed smile. 'Sorry.'

'It's fine. I'm used to it.'

An excitable Engineer in britches and a plumed hat hurried past the pair with a loud 'Yarrrr'.

'Thank you, Geordi,' sighed Tasha. She turned back to the young man. 'See?'

The young man gave a slight, awkward laugh in reply.

Tasha folded her arms and regarded him with amusement. 'Well, now I'm afraid it's my turn to show my social ineptness,' she declared, 'and admit that I can't remember your name or where I've seen you before.'

'Morton Baker.' Morton extended a hand for her to shake. 'I'm a regular at the Prisoner's Mok'Bara classes. Hence the invite to his promotion.'

'That'll be where I recognise you from,' Tasha replied, shaking his hand.

'And I'm always around in Ten Forward, of course,' added Morton.

'A social animal,' noted Tasha, 'or maybe you just can't get enough of Guinan's cocktails…?'

'Well, both,' admitted Morton, 'but my main reason for being in the bar so much is because that's where my job is.'

'Oh. You work for Guinan. Of course.'

Morton shrugged. 'We can't all be interstellar superheroes, you know. Some of us want to see the universe but are only really any good at mixing martinis and waiting tables.'

'Sounds fair enough,' Tasha smiled. 'So, how do you like the universe so far?'

'I like it,' Morton replied. 'In fact, if I had to list my ten favourite infinitely vast, black vacuums of nothingness, the universe would definitely be in my top three.'

Tasha laughed. Off towards the bridge of their fake 18th Century ship, she heard the distinctive laugh of the Captain ringing out at the same moment. Tasha glanced across. There was a hum of organisation and activity around the Captain that suggested the ceremony would be starting soon. Indeed, Beverly Crusher was already beginning to make her way through the crowd of assembled guests, getting them into position.

'We're bringing Worf out in five minutes,' the Doctor told her as she passed by.

'Are you really going to make him walk the plank?' Morton asked.

Beverly grinned. 'It's tradition.'

'It's a pretty big drop though,' added Morton. 'Won't he get hurt?'

'We have safety precautions galore,' replied the Doctor. 'He won't even get a scratch.'

'He'll take that as an insult, you know,' Tasha warned.

'Well, I'm not going to let him take up valuable space in Sick Bay fusing his broken legs back together for the sake of Klingon Pride,' Beverly retorted. 'Anyway, we've asked Reg to make sure the water's extra icy cold. That should take his mind off the fact we wilfully haven't tried to kill him. It's gonna be like swimming in the Arctic.'

'Ouch,' grinned Tasha.

'I do not envy him his dip,' added Beverly, heading off towards another group of guests. 'Still, it'll make Deanna smile, at least.'

Morton blinked at Tasha once the Doctor had left them. 'I thought Counsellor Troi and Worf were still good friends…?'

'Beverly's just joking,' Tasha replied. 'Deanna's fine about breaking up with Worf. There were just too many differences there. Apparently, she's really enjoying the freedom of being single again.'

'Yes,' muttered Morton, suddenly rather interested in his own clasped hands, 'the old dating game. I'm quite familiar with that, myself. Which brings me to my reason for so clumsily introducing myself in the first place…'

'Ah,' said Tasha.

'I think you're very pretty,' Morton continued, 'and I'd like to take you for coffee some time soon. I know just how you like it – goodness knows I've served it to you enough times.'

'Oh,' said Tasha.

Morton pulled a face. 'It's because I'm just a bartender, isn't it?'

'No! Not at all! It's just…' Tasha faltered. 'You don't want to get involved, Morton. It's messy. I have a lot of emotional baggage, trust me.'

'Who doesn't? Look, I'm available, you're available, so…'

'That's the thing, though. I am single, just… I'm not exactly "available". I'm sort of in love with somebody already. And it screwed up the relationship I had with that guy, as well as screwing up the relationship prior to that …'

'And that's supposed to be because there's something wrong with _you_?' Morton asked. 'How could anyone be adored by you and not love you back? That's insane. Emotions or no emotions, it's the saddest, most selfish waste of love I can imagine. You ask me, that android must have a circuit board or two loose…'

'So you already know all about it?'

Morton shrugged. 'I work at a bar. I hear about this sort of thing. And I think it's tragic. You're keeping your distance and waiting to see if he'll ever be able to love you back. But he won't, will he?'

Tasha gazed across the deck to where Data was making stilted small talk with a couple of Engineers. Same old Data. Always the same old Data. How long had he had that emotion chip locked away in his quarters now – a year? More, even? And how long would it be before he made up his mind about it – another year, perhaps, or a decade, or a century?

'And in the meantime, you keep yourself alone,' Morton continued, 'waiting for a change that'll never come, when there are guys like me who'd do anything to go on a date with you… it's not right.'

'I'd change how I feel if I could…'

'Then go on a date with me,' Morton demanded. 'Get out of your rut. You might even surprise yourself by actually having a really good time without him.'

'I have plenty of fun without him already,' Tasha protested.

'But not with a devilishly attractive young barman who can mix a Black Russian that'll knock your socks off,' grinned Morton.

Tasha smiled at his persistence, but still faltered.

'One drink,' continued Morton. 'I can meet you straight after my shift at 2200. If you have a crummy time, you can go back to kicking the asses of every hostile alien race out there and I'll go back to collecting empty glasses, and we'll say no more about it. And if you have a good time… well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. It's not like I'm asking you to marry me. What have you got to lose?'

'If I say "yes", will you shut the Hell up?'

'I will silently punch the air in victory,' Morton told her, seriously, 'and say no more.'

'Then, yes.'

Morton silently punched the air as the rattle of a drum indicated that Worf's promotion ceremony was about to commence.

'See you later,' she called over her shoulder as she hurried up to where the other Officers were standing. As she passed Data she noticed that he was deep in the middle of a conversation with Geordi about minute flaws in the historical design of their holographic ship. He didn't so much as make the briefest eye contact with her.

He hadn't even noticed.

-x-

'He didn't.'

'He did.'

Guinan turned her attention to Dr Crusher. 'So, how cold _was_ the water?'

'Cold,' glowered Beverly. 'Reg did a sterling job on that damned ocean. I think I might start getting the feeling back in my toes by next week.'

'Told you that android was clueless,' added Morton from the other end of the bar.

'Mr Baker, it isn't 2200,' Guinan reminded the young barman. 'You're not on your date yet – you're still on my time, and there's still a table of four waiting for your famously delightful Flumberry Surprise, so I suggest you get back to work.'

Morton leaned playfully across the bar. 'You're a slave driver, Guinan.'

'I'm the best damn employer you ever had, and you know it.'

'Why do you have to be right about everything?' Morton called back at her as he turned his attention back to his work.

'He hasn't even apologised for it in person,' continued Beverly with a sigh.

'I think he's still feeling pretty sheepish about the whole thing,' Tasha replied. 'He certainly left the Holodeck with his tail behind his legs.'

'He doesn't feel sheepish,' Beverly grumbled, 'and he doesn't have a tail.'

'Hmm,' muttered Tasha. 'There's been _something_ up with him ever since.'

Reg Barclay sidled into the conversation. 'Up with who?'

'Data,' chorused the three women.

'Oh,' Reg replied, with a hint of disappointment, 'has he been in already?'

'No,' Guinan told him. 'We think he might be steering clear of the good Doctor for a while.

This seemed to cheer Barclay up. 'I haven't missed him, then? I have to admit, I'm very curious to see the results…'

'What results?' Tasha asked. 'What are you talking about?'

'The new, improved Data,' Reg informed her, brightly.

Tasha scoffed a little. 'He's not growing a beard again, is he?'

'No.' Reg frowned slightly. 'You don't know? He's finally decided to install his emotion chip.'

Tasha had chosen the wrong moment to be halfway through a sip of coffee. She spluttered, sending a few drops of the piping hot liquid into her windpipe, causing her to cough inelegantly. 'What?' she gasped, feeling as though her stomach was rapidly plunging out of her body and through the floor to land in a wet, trembling heap a few decks below.

'Commander La Forge took the end of his shift off to help him with it,' Reg confirmed. 'They were planning on coming to Ten Forward if the procedure had been a success.'

'Emotions?' Tasha coughed, 'Data? Here? Tonight?'

'Yes, that's the gist of what I said.'

'But he can't,' panicked Tasha. 'Not tonight. I made a date…'

Dr Crusher shrugged, sympathetically. 'You know what Data's like when he's set on an idea.'

'He didn't even tell me.' Tasha rubbed the bridge of her nose. 'This is so typical. For a man with an internal chronometer, he has the most rotten timing I've ever known.'

'Does it really matter if you're seeing Morton tonight?' Guinan asked. 'You and Data split up almost two years ago.'

'Only because he had no emotions and couldn't love me,' Tasha replied. 'But now…? I don't know what's going to happen.'

'Well,' said Guinan, 'whatever does happen is gonna do so pretty soon.'

The Bartender nodded over to the door, where Geordi and Data were walking in. For a moment, the two friends looked to Tasha like small children making their debut in a school play. Geordi wore an odd mix of excitement and great anxiety on his expression. Data had the visage of a three-year-old, drunk on bright lights, loud noises and far too much sugar. From the look on his face, every single stimulus seemed to astound and delight him. Tasha felt the tiniest pang of relief that the android was not the ball of rage and resentment that he had been when Lore had fed emotion into him, but that relief was almost entirely swallowed up by a horrible feeling of unfamiliarity. This beaming person wasn't her Data. It was wrong – all wrong.

The pair spotted the group at the bar and headed straight over. Tasha concentrated on her coffee cup as they approached. Data made a beeline for Beverly.

'Dr Crusher,' he announced, gleefully. 'I am sincerely sorry for pushing you at Worf's promotion ceremony.'

'You look it,' replied Beverly, dryly.

'Do I?' Grinned Data, oblivious to the doctor's sarcasm. 'Lieutenant Barclay may have already informed you – my inappropriate action was the final impetus I needed to persuade me that I should activate the emotion chip that my creator bequeathed to me. Ergo, I am indeed now capable of feeling sorrow for pushing you. Which, in turn, makes me very, very happy indeed. Ha!'

'Well,' muttered Beverly, 'I suppose a plummet and a freezing dip's not too big a sacrifice if it helped you realise one of your greatest wishes. Congratulations, Data.'

'Thank you!' He turned his attention to the rest of the group. 'Lieutenant Barclay – Guinan – seeing you both invokes warm feelings of fond friendship. It is a most pleasant sensation, and one that I hope to repeat indefinitely.'

'Nice to see you too, Data,' replied Guinan, graciously, 'and you, Geordi.'

'Is he not _wonderful_?' continued Data, like a relentless torrent of giddy enthusiasm. He wrapped a slightly-too-tight arm around his friend. 'Who could possibly not love this man? He is my best friend – my very best friend.'

'Thanks, Data,' mumbled Geordi – from the tone of his voice, this was not the first time that evening that Data had eulogised about their friendship.

'You are fantastic. May I kiss you?'

'For the last time, no.'

'Platonically – not on the lips.'

'No!'

'Very well. Tasha!'

Tasha looked up, startled out of her contemplations by his sudden acknowledgement of her presence. 'I won't kiss you, either.'

His expression managed to convey his confusion without affecting the perma-grin plastered on his mouth.

'Not tonight, anyway,' Tasha continued, hurriedly, 'I have a date. In fact, I know I said that we could review our relationship if you ever became capable of emotions, and see if we could move on again without that wall there, but maybe for the time being I…'

'A date?' asked Data, his smile frozen. 'A romantic date?'

'Yes,' Tasha replied, 'and I don't really want to break it…'

'Is she telling the truth?' Data asked the rest of the group, matter-of-factly.

'Of course she is,' Beverly replied. 'Why would you even have to ask?'

Data focused back on Tasha. 'Are you going to have sex with him?'

'What?' chorused several members of the group, including Tasha.

'It is a fairly simple "yes or no" question. Do you intend to have sexual intercourse with this individual?'

'Oh dear lord,' Tasha groaned, 'you're jealous.'

'Was that not your intention?'

'No! Morton asked me out…'

'Morton Baker?' Enquired Data, with an odd glance in the direction of the worried-looking barman.

'He's allowed! And the only reason I said yes was because I was getting a little tired of seeing if you were ever going to change after two long years…'

'If I was going to _change_?' repeated Data, the grin still stuck hollowly to his face. 'Did you not declare that you loved me as I was, and did not require me to change?'

'I…'

'And, I certainly do not recall you suggesting our romantic relationship could be resumed were I to become capable of emotions.'

'I'm sure I did,' Tasha protested. 'I mean, that was always what I'd hoped, and…'

'Have sex with him.'

'Data!'

'Have sex with Morton Baker,' continued Data, loudly. 'You have my blessing.'

At the other end of the bar, Morton Baker looked as though he wanted the floor to swallow him up.

'Calm down, Data,' warned Geordi. 'Tasha's free to do whatever she likes.'

'She told me that she was in love with me,' Data replied, pointing an accusatory finger, 'and now she is fornicating with other men because I could not change to fit requirements that she had not informed me of…'

'I'm not fornicating with anyone,' Tasha protested. 'If this date is upsetting you so much, I'll cancel it. Is that better?'

'Hey,' complained Morton, quietly, but the escalating argument had too much momentum now to be halted by his wounded feelings.

'Whatever plans you made with Mr Baker – insubstantial though they now seem to be – are not the issue,' Data retorted, 'more a symptom of what, as you put it, "upsets" me.'

'I don't know what you mean…'

'You do not _know_?' Data's voice was starting to reach a volume level that she hadn't been aware he was capable of. 'Have you recently forgotten the last seven years? You begged me for sexual intercourse, suggesting that I was somehow special, that I could heal the wounds of your past, you infected me with the Tsiolkovsky virus and then shunned me outright as a lover and, for some time afterwards, as a friend, with no explanation regarding your reasoning. The year after that, again you desperately demanded intercourse and again announced that our coupling was embarrassing to you and should remain a secret. You hounded your subordinate Jenna D'Sora when I was briefly involved with her and broke a gift that she had given me in a fit of pique. You _lied_ to me on the day of my daughter's death, making me believe that you had watched your sister die when she was in actuality still alive. Over the years you have ridiculed me; teased me; scorned me; taken my gestures of camaraderie for granted and shown jealous possessiveness over my personal life while simultaneously rejecting soundly any offer of monogamy. When we finally did attempt a relationship, even though you _knew_ I was incapable of emotion, even though I had warned you of my romantic limitations, still you demanded of me what I could not provide, and so you rejected me. _Again!_'

'That wasn't a rejection, Data,' attempted Tasha. 'I couldn't stay with you because I'd fallen in love with you…'

'Do you have any idea how demented that sounds?' Data interrupted. 'When you make that statement aloud, does it hold any logic for you, because it does not to me. And for the years after that, as you moped about your lot and continued to remind me how tragically enamoured with me you were, I began to wonder what _I_ was doing wrong. You even fretted about versions of our relationship as witnessed in alternate dimensions, as though there was something that perhaps I could do to alter _those_! And, influenced by you, I began to obsess, began to over-analyse every action and reaction between the two of us, because I could see that you were unhappy, and I felt that that was my fault. When I was under Lore's control and found myself despising you, I was concerned. Again, I believed that to be a failing on my part. Had I not come to the conclusion that those bitter feelings were part of Lore's manipulation I would never have made the decision to install the emotion chip…'

'Yeah,' interjected Guinan, taken aback at the android's rant, 'what a good job you haven't turned out all bitter and angry this time round…'

'But you see,' continued Data, 'I understand now. The anger did not stem from me, or even, in your case, from my brother. It was you, Tasha. It was every instance that you have used me; lied to me; belittled me; confounded me; coveted me… So do, feel free to have sex with Morton Baker. It is no concern of mine. All that I ask of you, Tasha, is that you cease viewing me as your emotional property by default. Stop imagining that I would love you if I could. Because I can now love, but I do not love you. I do not even like you.'

Tasha felt her breath catch in the back of her throat. She was surprised to find, however, that it wasn't crushing disappointment or sadness that she automatically felt at hearing his words so much as a growing fury. How typical of him to throw slights that were years old back in her face as though they'd happened yesterday, and how like him to forget any sort of social etiquette and humiliatingly air their dirty laundry in the bar, in front of their friends. And after all the times she'd been there for him, it was still the negatives of their relationship that he chose to concentrate on? For heaven's sake…

'Cool it, Data' Geordi advised. 'You've only been experiencing emotions for a matter of minutes – maybe you should think things through before you start opening up old wounds with ex girlfriends…?'

Data cast his friend a sideways glance, the anger that had risen in his eyes as he'd berated Tasha not subsiding.

'We had just located and reactivated my identical brother,' Data reminded Geordi with an odd calm. 'Suddenly, I seemed to be behaving utterly uncharacteristically – in a manner, in fact, much like that Lore had initially exhibited, while my apparent counterpart lay inexplicably comatose and damaged in my quarters, and therefore incapable of confirming his identity. Did it not occur to any of my closest friends – the very elite of Starfleet – that maybe… just _maybe_, androids were capable of SWITCHING CLOTHES?!?'

Data's tone had grown so thunderous by the end of his sentence that it brought the whole bar to an awkward silence. Geordi didn't answer, but gazed at his friend, agog.

'That was a very long time ago, Data,' Beverly told him, quietly.

'And thank you _so_ much for keeping my off-switch a secret as I requested, Doctor,' replied Data with a childishly crude sarcasm. 'Can you imagine how thrilled I was when Commander Riker just sidled up behind me and switched me off in the middle of my tribunal – unexpectedly, in public? That was _exciting!_'

'Hey,' protested the Doctor, 'it wasn't me who made that common knowledge, it was Lore… you know… when we all thought he was… when he told us he was…' Beverly blinked. 'You just threw me off a boat. I refuse to defend myself to you.'

'May I make an observation?' Guinan asked, 'or do you still have people you want to give a ticking off to?'

'Many,' replied Data. 'However, I have no quarrel with you, Guinan. Please – continue.'

'I've seen this happen before,' Guinan told him. 'With Vulcans that have started losing their marbles. A whole lifetime's worth of anger starts coming outta them in lumps. It's really quite dangerous for people who aren't used to emoting…'

'I was decapitated in the act of saving your life,' interrupted Data, testily, 'and as a result have a head that is half a millennium older than the rest of me. Things _died_ in my nasal cavities, and did you ever thank me?'

'I thought you had no quarrel with me.'

'Well, it appears that I have found one.'

'C'mon, Data,' Tasha sighed, still trying to control her own irritation. 'Don't bring your friends into this. It's me you're really angry at.'

'How right you are,' replied Data, turning back to her, 'and yet, you still appear surprised at my reaction.'

'Not surprised,' Tasha told him. 'I'm disappointed, but mainly…'

'Disappointed?' Data aped. 'Did you hope that I would profess undying love for you and fall into your arms simply because of a brief monogamous relationship and a handful of ill-advised casual sexual encounters? Are you so narcissistic to believe that your seductive powers are that strong?'

'I just thought that maybe I meant something to you. Something special.'

'Well, besides being especially infuriating to me, you are not. You are a cold, unfeminine, antisocial, overcompensating neurotic, whom I occasionally indulged sexually because I was not programmed to discriminate when it came to sexual partners.'

Tasha scoffed a little, her annoyance at his protestations growing. 'You didn't seem so indifferent in the Turbolift…'

'You had sex in the _Turbolift_?' Beverly interrupted. 'Yuck!'

'That does not count!' Data exclaimed, jabbing a finger at her. 'I was only ever pandering to _your_ lusts, but not any more.' He turned to go, then turned back again suddenly, hit with a victorious thought. 'And I faked every orgasm.'

Something inside Tasha snapped. 'Well, of course you did. You're a robot.'

Data didn't look away from her eyes. She didn't even see his hand, it was so fast as he grabbed the nearest glass to hand and threw the contents of it in Tasha's face. Tasha gasped a little in shock as the cold, faintly stinging liquid hit her in the nose and eyes.

'What the Hell…?'

'That was my tonic water,' Dr Crusher complained, but Data had already turned and started pushing his way towards Ten Forward's exit.

'I'll get you another one,' Guinan placated, handing Tasha a cloth to dry her face.

Tasha accepted the cloth, now utterly livid. 'He threw a drink at me! No one's ever thrown a drink at me before…'

'Well, as drinks to the face go,' replied Geordi vacantly, watching Data's now decidedly wobbly exit with concern, 'quinine's no biggie. It's cold, it's clear… I once saw someone get a jug of piping hot lobster bisque thrown on him… excuse me…'

Data had missed the door and was now walking sideways towards a table of Stellar Cartographers. Geordi darted away from the bar and hurried towards his increasingly crablike friend. The Engineer wasn't fast enough, however, and one hundred kilograms of android suddenly went as stiff and immobile as a board, lost his centre of gravity and came crashing down into the table amidst a cacophony of broken glass and surprised screeches.

Drenched though she was, Tasha got to her feet automatically and started to approach the collapsed table, where Geordi was already squatting, trying to lift his friend out of the pool of fractured glasses that his fall had created. Tasha had to admit that she was relieved to see Data begin to pull himself upright, blinking a little groggily at his surroundings.

'Are you OK?' asked Geordi. 'What happened?'

'A minor overload,' Data explained after spitting out a mouthful of smashed crockery and half a teaspoon. 'I am fine.'

'Data,' worried Geordi, 'I think you should take it easy with the emotions for a while. We don't want…'

'I am _fine_,' Data insisted. He caught Tasha's eye for a split second, then pushed himself upright, dusted himself down and made as dignified an exit as possible, with Geordi in pursuit, still protesting.

Tasha skulked back to the bar. 'It was Will, wasn't it?'

'Hmm?' muttered Guinan, fetching Beverly a fresh drink.

'The bisque guy. It was Will Riker.'

'No comment,' replied Guinan, in a tone that implied "you're right, but I'll be damned if I'm telling you".

Tasha tried to take her seat, but Morton was already mopping up the spilled drink from it with a cloth.

'Let me do that,' she offered.

'Why?' Morton didn't even look up at her. 'You wouldn't catch me offering to fire torpedoes for you. You do your job, Commander, I'll do mine.'

'OK.' She paused. 'I'm sorry, Morton. But I did warn you…'

'There's a difference between having baggage and just dropping somebody you'd made arrangements with like a piece of trash,' Morton told her. 'That's just plain rude. In fact, the only reason I haven't thrown a drink at you myself is that I know it'd be me who'd have to clean it up again.'

Tasha sighed deeply to herself as the enraged Barman cleaned up the mess. 'Well, that went about as well as could have been expected.'


	45. Chapter 45

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

The Point of No Return

-x-

Two

-x-

'Data?'

'Leave me alone.' The android didn't so much as look up from his computer terminal.

Tasha didn't leave him alone. She shuffled a little further into the cybernetics lab where he was studying.

'I know you must be feeling pretty crummy right now. You blame yourself for what happened.'

'I should have destroyed the emotion chip during the year in which I had the opportunity,' muttered Data, more to himself than Tasha. 'I should never have attempted to activate it – I should have known from before that I would not be able to manage them adequately.'

'You need to stop beating yourself up over this,' Tasha continued. 'You need to be able to focus.'

Data stared up at her. 'Focus? _Focus?!?_' He looked back down again, shaking his head in disbelief. '"Focus"…'

'I can see that the guilt is consuming you, Data. If you let it overwhelm you, who knows what more damage could be done.'

The android looked up again, sharply. 'The damage has already been done! Geordi is gone. The prisoner of Klingons. _Klingons_, Tasha! Can you imagine what they will do to him? And I could have easily overpowered Soran and prevented this entire situation, but I did not, because I was afraid. So how can you possibly suggest that by denying my guilt, disaster can be averted? What else can possibly go wrong?'

'Data, calm down. You don't want to malfunction again'

'I _cannot_ calm down, because I have _already_ malfunctioned! The overload I experienced on the Amargosa Observatory means that I cannot stop or remove these emotions. I have just spent the last seventy eight minutes in this laboratory attempting to discover some way of deactiving the fused chip, and I have found nothing, nothing, _nothing_!'

He punctuated the final "nothing" by throwing a PADD across the lab. It whistled past Tasha's head and out of the open door without losing any of its considerable momentum; finally coming to rest by smashing into the wall of the corridor beyond where it became embedded, fizzing and useless. Data blinked at the wrecked piece of equipment for a moment before sinking his head into his clawed hands in frustration.

'You can't go on like this, Data.'

'I am aware of that.'

'What if you send yourself into cascade failure?'

'Then,' Data told his hands, 'perhaps that would be all that I deserved.'

Tasha took a few more steps towards him, smiling a little at his flirtation with melodrama. 'Well, now you're just being stupid.'

'I am not stupid! Geordi is either dead already or soon to die, all because of me…'

'Soran wouldn't bother taking a hostage just to kill him,' Tasha interrupted. 'We're all doing our utmost to find Geordi and get him back, and I don't know about you, but I happen to have a lot of faith in this crew's ability when it comes to daring rescues. But if we're to do our best for Geordi, we all have to lock away our feelings about this problem and concentrate on the task in hand.'

'Lieutenant Commander Yar advising me to keep my emotional outbursts in check for the benefit of my duties,' muttered Data. 'How ironic.'

Tasha took another step towards him. 'What are you implying, Data?'

'You know very well what I am implying.'

'Look, judge me on my private life as much as you please, but bear in mind that I am a fellow Officer, and a Professional…'

'I am certain that Professionals do not weep anywhere near as often as you do.'

'So I've shed the odd tear when I've been particularly upset – so what? It doesn't affect my work. Not that you'd understand…'

'And why would _that _be?'

Tasha could tell from the android's tone that he was itching for an argument. She knew, deep down, that she should have walked away, but by that point she was too riled up to back off.

'You're acting like you're the first person to ever be in distress,' she replied, her voice raising in volume, 'like there's no way anybody can possibly console you because your pain is so special, but it isn't. Everybody suffers; everybody has their cross to bear. And if I cry from time to time, well then after what I went through on Turkana, can you blame me?'

'Turkana, Turkana, Turkana,' Data spat, getting to his feet. 'Is there anything in your life, any flaw in your character, that you cannot attribute to Turkana City?'

'I went through Hell,' Tasha shouted back at him. 'I experienced miseries that you can't imagine…'

'But are they beyond _your_ imagination, Tasha? After you fabricated the death of your sister, how can I truly know which of your tales of woe are genuine?'

'And we're back to lying about Ishara _again_,' Tasha cried, exasperated. 'You know what – I'm through apologising for things that I've already said I'm sorry for a hundred times over…'

'That is a wild exaggeration. You have apologised for lying to me about your sister on only nine separate occasions…'

'That's more than enough!'

'But it is not a hundred!'

'So now you're going to be an oversensitive jerk as _well_ as the pedantic number-cruncher you've always been?'

'I am not pedantic!'

'Well, _I'm_ not unprofessional! And I'm not a liar. I'm your colleague and your friend, or at least I'm supposed to be – why have you decided to hold such a grudge against _me_? If it was me that had been taken by the Klingons, would you be worrying about _my_ wellbeing and giving Geordi the 3rd degree?'

'Do not _dare_!' Data and Tasha were practically nose-to-nose by now, although they could probably have been able to hear one another from several rooms away. 'Do not dare to belittle the peril that I have placed him in in order to further your own agenda.'

'I don't _have_ an agenda.'

'Then why are you even here?'

'Why, indeed?' Fumed Tasha. 'Good question. Maybe I should just go.'

'Fine.'

'Ditto.'

Tasha didn't move. Neither did Data.

'Go, then.'

'I'm going!' Tasha took a step backwards, towards the door. 'Fuck you.'

Data darted towards her angrily, grabbed her head in both hands and kissed her, hard. The only time he had kissed her anywhere near so possessively had been in the Turbolift, while experiencing the passion that Q had briefly fabricated for him, and back then it had been more desperate, more hungry – now it was furious and terrifying. She was suddenly made very aware of just how strong he was - how inhuman. The reality of what he was hit her with a clarity she couldn't remember ever feeling before. He was an electronic creation of mankind. He was a machine. And it excited her more than any biological being ever had before or, she presumed, ever would again. She reciprocated the kiss with her own racing lust and rage - grabbing, scratching, licking, biting… Her heart was hammering. A passionate response – how long had she ached to be able to create that in him? And now it was happening. She didn't want it to stop, and not just because that would mean they'd have to face the consequences of what was happening. She wanted this moment to go on forever…

He stopped, as abruptly as he'd initiated the kiss, and pushed himself away from her, aghast.

'What am I _doing_?'

She wiped the synthetic saliva from her bottom lip. 'I know this seems inappropriate, with Geordi being in trouble, but…'

'Get out.'

'Data, we need to…'

'Get _out_!'

She could see from his expression that he meant it. She left the cybernetics lab without saying another word.

-x-

This was not turning out to be the best day. Sure – they'd got Geordi back and defeated the attacking Duras Sisters - that had been good. Only, now they had lost the battle section of the ship to a warp core breach brought on by the damage inflicted during the fight and the crippled saucer section on which they'd escaped was now tumbling out of orbit and seemed oblivious to the fact that Galaxy class Starships could not land. And that was very, very, _very _bad. Tasha's knuckles were white around her Tactical post as the stars disappeared on the viewscreen, leaving only the fast approaching, emerald image of Veridian III; the planet that the remaining half of the Enterprise seemed desperate to give a swift, devastating kiss farewell to. There was a jolt, and the saucer section began to shake terribly as they hit atmosphere, turning the ship into a giant disc of fire. There really was nothing left to do now but to steel herself and wait to see if they'd levelled off the descent enough to be able to survive the impact.

'Fasten your seatbelts, ladies and gentlemen,' muttered Riker through grimly gritted teeth.

'We don't _have_ any seatbelts,' replied an ashen Deanna Troi.

'At least you got a seat,' Tasha added, the shaking of the ship giving her voice a ridiculous tremolo.

'Then find as safe a place as you can and brace yourself,' Riker ordered.

'I won't abandon my post, Sir.'

'Dammit, Tasha, we can't exactly shoot our way out of this one,' countered Riker. 'The best thing you can do right now is try your hardest not to die.'

'If I'm gonna die,' Tasha argued, 'I'd rather do it on my f…'

There was an almighty "bang" above her. She looked up. Something – probably part of the ship's hull that had come away – had smashed hard into the already-damaged overhead window. Large cracks had formed in it and were rapidly growing.

She made a desperate grab for her console. 'Oh fu…'

Something else hit the window – something big. The very window that she had so often looked up at while on duty, and seen the glorious universe above her, and felt so safe and comforted at the sight, came apart above her ears and was sucked upwards into the Veridian atmosphere. She felt the overwhelming, freezing tug of the breach above her and hung on to her console as tightly as possible. As she battled against the pull she saw Riker trying to extend a helping hand to her while clutching desperately to the Captain's chair to prevent himself falling into the breach; she heard Klingon curses behind her that indicated Worf too was fighting his way towards her while doing his utmost to keep his own feet on the floor; she saw the back of Data's head as he wrangled with the ruined, powerless saucer section's computers to try to put a forcefield over the broken ceiling and restore normal pressure. For an instance, she saw Data turn, but before she could make eye contact, there was an immense jolt and she lost her grip.

Everything went red – Tasha couldn't gauge how long for – a second or so, she presumed, because when the hot redness faded, she was being buffeted by cold air pushing at her abdomen and face, there was nothing above her but sky, nothing below her but a forest of seemingly microscopic trees, as well as the battered saucer section, still making its descent without her. She was in freefall.

She struggled to breathe. She found herself unable to scream, unable to do anything save watch her ship from above as it fell. It was sailing forwards, away from her, and doing so fairy levelly. Perhaps it would not be a fatal crash – not for them, anyway. But there was no surviving this for her. This was the end. What a strange way to die. And with so much left undone, so much left unsaid. She could barely see, the air rushing at her face was so great, but she tried to take in her surroundings a little better. She wanted to meet death with her eyes open.

That was when she saw the other figure, plummeting twenty or so feet diagonally down from her, flattening itself out to try to control its fall and simultaneously trying to catch her attention by wildly waving its arms.

It couldn't be…

Tasha tried to remember the single parachuting programme she'd played years ago on the Holodeck. With extreme difficulty, she managed to position herself so as to fall roughly towards the other figure. As she neared the figure, her wind-lashed eyes were able to discern who it was.

It was Data.

She finally found her voice. 'What are you doing?' she shouted over the roar of the air.

'Falling,' came the obvious reply.

But Data had been the other side of the Bridge, and had a grip that could tear down doors singlehanded. He couldn't possibly have just fallen through the damaged window.

'Did you _jump_?'

Data's only answer was to extend a hand out towards her and shout 'here'.

She managed to grab his hand after a couple of attempts, and he pulled her close, wrapping his arms tightly around her. Tasha closed her eyes. Had he… had he jumped out of the Enterprise just so that they could have a proper "goodbye"? That was insane. All right, so it was also the most romantic thing anybody had ever done for her, but it was still insane.

The forest below was starting to look much bigger now. She was aware that Data was trying to turn himself around and manoeuvre her behind him.

'Hold on to my back.'

Tasha clambered around behind him and clasped her arms around his chest. 'Why? What are you going to do?'

Data darted a quick glance over his shoulder. 'I intend to save your life.'

'What? How?'

The forest was coming up fast now. A wide, uprooted trail off in the distance suggested that the Enterprise had already succumbed to gravity, but the trees here were tall and thick. They were bound to hit the branches before they reached the ground. Now facing the approaching trees, Data held his arms out wide in front of him. Tasha suddenly realised what it was he was going to try to do.

'Aahhh…' She screwed up her eyes and buried her face in his shoulder for protection.

'Hang on tight,' ordered Data pointlessly, since she was already clutching on to him with all of her strength.

She didn't see what happened next, but she certainly felt it – a sudden jolt as Data grabbed the top branches of the nearest tree to dramatically decrease the rate of their fall. The branches, inevitably, snapped and they started to slither gracelessly down through the tree. All around her was cracking, splintering, whipping, stinging wood as the android grabbed and broke branch after branch, slowing their descent to a speed far less likely to be deadly, but would still probably hurt like Hell once they hit the ground. There was one final drop of a few metres before Data's feet found soil. It was only as she heard the metallic crunching sound of something in his ankle breaking that she realised her own legs were wrapped tightly around his midriff. She let go and tumbled painfully to the ground just as he too toppled over.

There was a silence that seemed to last forever. She lay on her back, winded and with searing pain in her ribs and left shoulder, and looked up through the broken foliage at the fat, white trail the Enterprise had left in the blue sky above.

'Holy crap,' she whispered, 'I'm alive.' She craned her head over to where the android had fallen as well as she could. 'Data…?'

Data had landed facedown in a patch of moss, dotted with rocks and evergreen cones. She could see straight away that the synthetic skin on the palms of his hands had been ripped off by the fall through the tree. As he pushed himself up to a sitting position it became apparent that the lashing branches had also done fairly hefty damage to his face and arms. The android looked down at his legs, giving an experimental prod to his now limp, lifeless and decidedly right-angled right foot.

'Superficial damage, in the main. Nothing irreparable, although I will not be able to walk with my leg in its current condition.'

Tasha coughed, and painfully reached up to tap her Comms badge. 'Yar to Commander Riker…?'

There was a brief pause before a familiar voice replied. 'Holy crap, you're alive!'

'My sentiments exactly, Will,' grinned Tasha. 'And I could say the same about you.'

'It was as soft a landing as we could've hoped for, under the circumstances,' replied Riker's voice over the Comms link. 'The Enterprise came through for us even in her last gasps.' There was another pause. 'And Data…? He just leapt right out after you – we couldn't stop him. Is he…?'

'He could do with some synthetic skin grafts and one of his feet's seeing the world at a jaunty new angle,' Tasha answered, 'but apart from that he's OK. I think I've cracked a couple of ribs and dislocated a shoulder. I'm not sure if I can carry him…'

'We've got your co-ordinates,' Will interrupted. 'We'll come and get you. Might be a little while yet though – we're still evacuating the wreckage. Better get as comfortable as you can.'

'Sure,' Tasha croaked, smiling, 'I'll pull up a couple of armchairs and a chaise lounge. Yar out.'

There was a very long silence. Tasha watched the dying Enterprise's vapour trail as it faded. When she finally spoke, it felt as though her voice was intruding upon a grand, solemn peace.

'So, why did you do it?'

'I jumped,' replied Data, 'in order to save your life.'

'Thought you were mad as all Hell with me.'

'I am. I am merely not sufficiently infuriated with you to have allowed you to die when I was capable of preventing it. I would have done the same for any colleague, had they been the ones idiotically stubborn enough to stand beneath a shattering skylight at high altitude.'

'Well. Thank you.' Tasha paused. 'It was very brave of you.'

Data glared across at her. 'Are you insinuating that I only went to your rescue as a means of compensating for having failed Geordi?'

'Not at all,' replied Tasha, innocently. 'I was just thanking you. It must have been difficult doing something so dangerous with a newfound sense of fear.'

'Quite,' Data retorted, quietly. And then, even softer, added 'But the fear of you dying was worse.'

There was another long pause.

'I apologise for the drink,' announced Data after a while. 'In hindsight, it was unseemly – a rash reaction.'

'That's OK…'

'The sentiments behind it, however, remain the same. Many elements of our relationship have been unprofessional, unhealthy and exploitative for some years. You have treated me most unfairly.'

'So you keep saying,' Tasha replied, 'and, as _I've_ already said, I think I've apologised enough. How long before you can forgive me?'

'I do not know,' Data told her. 'I expect, when I am no longer enraged and humiliated by the memories. That may take some time to come about.'

'Hmm,' said Tasha.

Another silence fell. Tasha was very aware of a certain elephant in the room, and wondered whether either of them was ever going to bring the subject up. It seemed, however, that the same topic had also been preying on Data's mind.

'About the… incident in the Cybernetics Lab,' began Data.

'You weren't yourself,' Tasha interjected, hurriedly. 'Neither of us were. We were worried about Geordi, concerned about how you were handling your new emotion chip… it was a stupid, instinctive, emotional outburst, and it was…' she sighed. 'It was wonderful. Wasn't it? Tell me it wasn't wonderful.'

She looked over to meet eyes with Data once more. The android had a very odd expression on what was left of his face – one she'd never seen before.

'I am only going to tell you this once,' Data announced, with a strange, sour smile. 'It never happened.'

'Oh, breathed Tasha. 'Oh, you vindictive Son of a Bitch.'

'If you do not mind being quiet now, Commander,' Data replied, turning his face away, 'we have a long wait ahead of us.'

-x-

_A/N If anybody's interested and has Spotify, I've compiled a "soundtrack" to Rollercoaster - of songs sung or quoted in the story arc, or used as episode titles, and a few that have either provided general inspiration or evoke the feeling of certain parts of the story. FFnet doesn't like posting links, but there's a link on my LJ, or message me & I'll email you the link._

_Thanks as ever for reading, extra thanks to those who've reviewed._

_Scribbles_

_xxx  
_


	46. Chapter 46

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Terra Firma

-x-

One

-x-

Anchorage Shuttleport was considerably smaller than the one in New Jersey where they had departed from, but it had a warmer, friendlier feel to it. Geordi waited in line with Data for their luggage. Travelling around Earth in civilian transport wasn't exactly an unpleasant experience, but it was one that certainly took some getting used to after zipping around the Galaxy on the Enterprise.

He sighed a little. The Enterprise.

He had gone into what almost felt like a state of mourning for the Enterprise D after the crash, and still felt a little melancholy when he contemplated the ship – as though he had lost a dear old friend. Even with the good news about the new ship, it wasn't going to be the same. Things had changed too much, now. He took a sideways look at his best friend. The android held his self differently these days, since the activation of his emotion chip – even at times like now, when he was concentrating on keeping the new sensations under control – he just didn't _feel_ the same. What was that Shakespeare line…? "He had suffered a sea-change into something rich and strange". Yeah – that pretty much summed it up. And if Data looked different to Geordi now, he wondered what sort of Strange Thing the android would look like through implants instead of a VISOR. They'd told Geordi he'd be able to see things much more as a normal sighted human would – he'd see things in the colours others saw, have a more natural depth perception and better definition of things like facial expressions… but some of the visual manifestations of the VISOR would be far less apparent. One of the side effects of this would be that he wouldn't see a halo around Data any more. Everything was in a state of flux now, and Geordi wasn't entirely sure where he stood.

Well, technically, he did know where he stood. He stood in Anchorage.

As had become their custom on their travels since the crash, Geordi made to fetch his luggage, only for Data to pick all of their bags up in one hand before he could get to it. They turned and walked to the arrivals lounge. Both friends caught sight of Will Riker's placard at the same time, and shared a small smile.

'Why do you have a sign with our names on it?' Data asked as they approached Will. 'You know who we are.'

Riker glanced down at the placard. 'Just thought it'd be a nice touch. Traditional.'

'Thanks for coming to meet us.' Geordi gave Will a warm hug. 'And thanks for organising this get together.'

'Couldn't have come at a better time,' Will added, gleefully. 'You heard about the new ship, yet?'

'_Heard_ about it?' Geordi replied, 'they're asking me to be a specialist consultant in the design process.'

'He is going to be working with Leah Brahms for five weeks,' Data added.

'Data…' muttered Geordi.

'Lovely Leah,' grinned Riker.

'She's a married woman,' Geordi protested.

'Bet he's excited as a kid in a candy store anyway,' Will added to Data, conspiratorially.

'He has mentioned Dr Brahms an average of 4.75 times a day since he received the news,' Data announced.

'Make it stop,' Geordi sighed.

'I'm sorry,' Riker replied, cheerfully. 'How was your sailing trip, gentlemen? How's about that Indian Ocean, huh?'

'Oh,' shrugged Geordi, 'y'know. Big. Wet. Just how I like 'em.' He caught Will's expression. 'Oceans, that is…'

'Hold that thought,' interrupted Will, glancing up at an arrivals display, 'the Kiev shuttle's just docking.' He switched the card with Geordi and Data's names on to one reading "Kiev Party: Troi, Yar, Worf".

'So, what did you see in New Jersey?' Riker continued.

'Geordi demanded that we take a detour to see the Edison museum,' Data told him.

If Will's face weren't alight enough already, it brightened even more. 'The Happiest Place On Earth?'

'Can you believe,' Geordi added, 'Data'd never been?'

'You'd never been?' Will echoed with mock horror.

'Having never been a child,' reasoned Data, 'I never had cause to go to a lurid, vulgar adventure park such as the one we visited yesterday.'

'Edison's World of Adventure is not vulgar,' declared Will. He turned to Geordi. 'Did you meet Sparky and Scratchy?'

'Course we did! They've got holograms of them greeting you at the door these days.'

'Holograms?' Riker seemed a little disappointed. 'What was wrong with the old robotic ones?'

'That is beside the point,' Data interjected. 'You must realise that Sparky and Scratchy are almost certainly apocryphal. I find it highly unlikely that Edison was aided in his invention of the electric light bulb and the phonograph by two singing chipmunks.'

'You've been to the Happiest Place On Earth?' Deanna Troi, having managed to walk right up to the waiting group while they'd been talking without Geordi noticing, barged straight in to the conversation. 'I used to love going there with my human grandparents when I was little. Do they still have the Illuminator Adventure Ride?'

Geordi shook his head as Tasha also sidled into the group, looking travel-worn and awkward. 'Last I heard, they changed it to The Transmogrifier Adventure Ride, and traded it to Kafkaland.'

'Shame.'

Riker set his cards down and rubbed his hands, cheerfully. 'Well, looks like we're all here.'

Geordi frowned. 'What about Worf?'

The two women shared troubled glances. 'About Worf…'

'It's OK,' Will interrupted, 'he messaged ahead to say he won't be coming. Something came up.'

'Can say that again,' mumbled Tasha, almost too quietly to hear.

Geordi was just about to ask her what she'd meant when he saw Deanna surreptitiously nudge her and mouth "later". He frowned again, but decided that if the women were adamant on leaving whatever it was they had to say for a later time, he shouldn't press them.

'I've got a great surprise for you all back at the summer lodge, anyway,' continued Riker, cheerfully. 'Shall we go? I've got a private shuttle waiting.'

'A private shuttle?' Deanna gave Will a mocking grin. 'Not particularly authentic.'

'The nearest shuttleport's nearly a hundred miles from the lodge,' Will told her. 'I mean, we _could_ canoe there, but it'd take some time. And anyway, I got a pot roast in the oven.' He paused for a second. 'Hope you like Moose.'

Tasha pulled a face. 'You're cooking us _Moose_?'

'No,' Will replied, plainly, 'I just hope you like 'em. They're all over the place – there's a juvenile one that sometimes goes through our compost mound. He's a beauty but he stinks to high heaven.'

As they made their way over to the connecting shuttle, Geordi found himself in the middle of the group, with Will and Deanna playfully squabbling in front, and Data and Tasha at either side of him, frostily ignoring one another, as had become their habit ever since the crash. Geordi was suddenly acutely aware that he was about to spend over a week vacationing in a lodge in the middle of nowhere with two ex-couples. He wondered what had happened to Worf, and dearly wished that the Klingon could have come too… until he realised that that would have made it _three_ former couples.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, he told himself. Maybe the icy tension between Data and Tasha was just due to their initial reaction on seeing one another again, after several weeks' sabbatical away from each other. He hoped that was the case, and not just for the sake of the Alaskan vacation. He knew as well as the rest of them that Jean-Luc Picard was to be offered command of the Enterprise E, and that the Captain was keen to take up the post with the same senior crew that he had picked for the new ship's predecessor. Geordi really didn't know how that was going to work if the Chief of Security and Second Officer were to remain so acrimonious. He found that he really didn't know what sort of attitude to expect from his best friend any more – from the weeks they'd spent sailing, he wouldn't put it past Data to remain in a fairly constant bad mood for goodness knew how long. Bursts of good cheer in the android had been short-lived and seemed forced during the sailing trip. For the most part Data had been… well, not necessarily grumpy, as such, but surprisingly detached, considering his usual enthusiasm for integration into humanity and the boost to that understanding of human life that his emotion chip was supposed to have provided. All of a sudden, Data seemed to have abandoned his study of humanity… seemed to have abandoned his interest in pretty much everything, in fact. He just went along with the flow, quietly and dejectedly. Geordi wondered what cruel irony had caused his friend to cease marvelling at the universe at the very moment that he had been given the means by which he should finally be able to enjoy it.

In front, Will was still talking.

'There's mountains to climb,' he enthused, 'rivers, forests… there's a great fishing spot only half an hour's hike from the lodge…'

'You expect us to catch our own food?' Deanna teased. 'Aren't there any replicators in Alaska?'

Riker wagged a finger at her. 'There is no substitute for a fresh salmon that you caught yourself. Replicator food tastes like cotton wool by comparison.'

'So you'd happily kill an innocent creature just because you think it tastes a little better.'

'We're not on the Enterprise now, Deanna…'

'Well, not since you crashed it, we're not…'

'Look,' continued Riker, patiently. 'I'm not the only one here who recently got a planet in the face. And we've all spent our Sabbaticals entirely on Earth so far – have you noticed that? Speaking for myself, I wanted to feel a bit of Terra Firma under my feet for a while; live on something that isn't quite so likely to crash into something else. And, y'know what, turns out I'd really missed Old Bluey-Greeny after all those years in space. And where better to enjoy Earth at her Earthiest than Alaska? Real air, real dirt, real water, real food…' He took in a deep, happy breath. 'Boy, I'm so excited about this, I could Scat.'

'Please don't…' warned Deanna.

'Too late,' beamed Riker, finally locating their shuttle and standing gallantly aside for his guests to board first. 'Zab-bee, ba-diddle-ah! Zab-bee, skiddle-a-biddly-bo! Ska-ba-biddly-bop…'

Riker didn't stop singing as the doors to the shuttle closed on them. Geordi sat between Data and Tasha – still studiously ignoring one another – and deflated, slowly.

It was going to be a Hell of a long vacation.

-x-

They alighted from the shuttle a few metres from a modest, cheery looking wooden lodge nestled amongst a multitude of conifers and overlooked by a couple of grand looking mountains in the distance. A light rain misted the air and made everything smell of trees. Will Riker opened his arms wide to the drizzle.

'Welcome to Riker Country!'

Relieved that the most awkward shuttle ride of her life was now over, Tasha took her attention off the art of ignoring Data, and drank in her new surroundings.

'I like it.'

'It'll do,' smiled Deanna. 'Remind me to compliment your father on his excellent taste in Summer Houses the next time I see him, Will.'

'My Dad doesn't get all the credit, you know,' Will replied. 'There's a rope swing out back that I tied myself.'

Tasha noticed that Will picked up Deanna's luggage for her, just as Data silently hauled up his and Geordi's suitcases with ease. Tasha picked up her own bags and followed the group towards the lodge.

'There's plenty of space in the Master bedroom for Deanna and Tasha to share,' Will continued, 'Geordi, you can have my old room… um… did you need a bed, Data…?'

'I do enjoy activating my dream programme from time to time,' replied Data, quietly. 'However, since comfort is not an issue for me, the floor will suffice.'

'Great,' concluded Riker. 'Then I'll take the couch in the lounge.'

'Didn't you say there was a guest bedroom too?' Deanna asked.

'Yes there is,' Riker replied, 'but I'm afraid that's where our squatter's staying.'

Tasha and Geordi exchanged glances. 'Squatter…?'

'Remember how I told you there was a surprise at the summer house…?'

Riker swung open the door to a bright, airy kitchen. An older woman in a headscarf looked up from her tea and gave them a familiar, if emaciated smile.

'Surprise!'

Tasha almost dropped her bags. 'Pulaski!'

'_More_ party crashers,' smiled a decidedly brittle looking Kate Pulaski, turning her attention back to her teacup. 'Honestly - you people destroy Starfleet's best ship and they give you a long vacation in paradise as punishment. Typical.'

'What are you doing here?' Deanna asked.

'You appear unwell,' added Data, needlessly.

'Ever the detective, Mister Data,' replied Pulaski, adjusting her headscarf. 'I was diagnosed with Ullaq Disease last March.'

The guests winced as one at the mention of the disease.

'Nasty,' added Geordi.

'Physician, Heal Thyself, right?' said Pulaski, dryly. 'Anyway, the long and short of it is, I did. I'm almost completely clear of it now – I'm gaining pounds again, my hair's starting to grow back… looks like I was one of the thirty percent that manages to survive it. Only, Starfleet Medical's policy is that anyone who's had the disease has a mandatory six-month leave of absence in which to recuperate. Kyle knew my circumstances and very kindly offered me use of the Summer House. I figured if I was to be bored out of my mind, I might as well do it somewhere pretty.'

'And, of course Dad did all this without mentioning any of it to me,' Riker added. 'Imagine my surprise when I got here and found Kate Pulaski, wasted away to nearly nothing, brandishing a cast iron poker at me.'

'I thought you were a burglar,' Pulaski explained.

'I thought _you_ were a ghost!'

'Thanks for the compliment.'

'You look great,' assured Deanna.

'You're lying, Counsellor,' replied Pulaski, 'but thank you anyway.'

As the doctor set about pouring tea for the guests, Will wandered off to a far corner of the kitchen and started prodding experimentally at an elderly vidiscreen.

Tasha leaned back and watched him as he wrangled with the old civilian technology.

'Got someone else you're dying to speak to?' she called to him. 'Don't tell me we're boring you already.'

'The Captain asked for us to contact him as soon as you'd all arrived,' Will explained.

'Let me guess,' replied Geordi, 'he has an important announcement to make.'

'An important, _secret_ announcement,' confirmed Riker. 'As if we didn't all already know what that's already going to be.'

'They're giving you all _another_ shiny new Starship to plough into a planet…' muttered Pulaski, offering a plate of shortbread around.

'The Captain does have a touch of the Showman about him from time to time,' Deanna added. 'It's not his fault we all heard about the new ship through the grapevine – let him make it official.'

The vidiscreen suddenly blipped into life.

'Here we go,' grinned Will, sitting back as the others gathered around the screen.

There was a wait of almost a minute before the transmission was connected, and the group in Alaska were greeted to a close-up of Beverly Crusher's flushed face as Picard's voice muttered; 'Have you got it? Is it on?' from somewhere out of shot.

'It's on,' Beverly announced, rather more excitedly and a little less coherently than usual. 'Here they are. Hello!'

'Bonjour, Beverly,' greeted Will.

'Bon_soir_, Will,' corrected Picard, finally appearing on the screen and sitting down heavily next to Dr Crusher. 'It's almost midnight in La Barre.'

'How is your Sister-in-Law?' Deanna asked.

'Lonely,' Picard replied, 'bewildered, grieving… but getting by.'

'And how are you enjoying Paris, Beverly?' Tasha asked.

Dr Crusher bit her lip. 'I haven't actually made it out to Paris yet.'

'You were desperate to go! The Louvre, the Champs-Elysees…'

'It's so nice here,' explained Beverly with a slight slur. 'The countryside, the food… the wine…'

Geordi frowned a little. 'Have you been drinking?'

'Geordi, it's France and it's midnight,' Picard replied. 'We're living on a vineyard. Yes. We have been drinking.'

'_Real_ wine,' Beverly enthused. 'Real Chateau Picard. I may never go back to synthahol again.'

'Well,' announced Picard with a sudden air of drama, 'I don't think any of you should get too used to the comforts of Earth just yet. Some have you may have already…' he trailed off, noticing the person at the back of the Alaskan party. 'Is that Kate Pulaski…?'

'It's a long story,' Pulaski replied. 'Please. Carry on with your announcement'

Picard tried again. 'Some of you may have already heard that Starfleet have commissioned a new Starship – the Enterprise E… stop pretending to look surprised, Will… The good news is, I have been offered command of said vessel and, despite the lot of you managing to crash the last one the moment I stepped off the damned thing, I have decided to give you all your old jobs back.'

'Permission to say "Hooray", Sir?' Will asked.

'Granted.'

'Hooray!'

'It's a shame Worf's not here for this,' Geordi added. 'Tasha, is he still in Kiev? Maybe we can link him up…'

Tasha glanced at Deanna, then the Captain on the screen, then down at the floor. 'Ah…'

'What? What is it?'

'That's the bad news,' Picard replied. 'Worf… Mr Worf isn't coming.'

'He told me that already,' Riker breezed. 'He messaged to say something had come up… only…' Will's expression changed. 'Only, you don't mean he just isn't coming to the cabin, do you? He's leaving us. Isn't he?'

'There was no way Worf could advance in Tactical and Security as part of our team,' Tasha told the group. 'He was a Lieutenant Commander without a command, and that's just not right for someone as ambitious as he is. He knew that the only way he'd get to be Security Chief with us would be to claw it out of my cold, dead hands. Personally, I'm amazed he stayed with us as long as he did, personal fondness notwithstanding.'

'Mr Worf was recently offered a command post on Deep Space 9,' added Picard. 'He has informed me that he has accepted this offer.'

'Deep Space _9_?' echoed Riker, Data and Geordi in an appalled chorus.

'We already lost the O'Briens to that run-down, Cardassian-built heap of junk,' complained Geordi, 'now they're getting Worf, too? It doesn't even _go_ anywhere!'

'It will present Worf with new opportunities that just aren't open to him on the Enterprise's senior crew,' Deanna explained.

'Much of the technology there is unreliable,' Data interjected.

'The place is crawling with Ferengi,' added Will.

'It doesn't even go anywhere,' repeated Geordi. Apparently this was an irreconcilable factor as far as the Engineer was concerned.

'I'm sure that Commander Worf is aware of all of those factors,' replied Picard. 'We all know that our Klingon friend is fond of new challenges.'

'He told Deanna and I in Kiev,' Tasha added, 'and sends his regrets for not coming to Alaska to let you all know in person, but he's got a lot of preparation work to do before he's transferred.'

'Deep Space 9,' muttered Geordi in dismay.

'Let's not dwell on losing Worf,' said Beverly. 'We should celebrate the positives here. This is an exciting time.'

'Beverly's right,' added Picard. 'So, enjoy your holiday, Ladies and Gentlemen, because there will be a tremendous amount of work for us all once it's over.'


	47. Chapter 47

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Terra Firma

-x-

Two

-x-

Kate Pulaski cut herself another fat wedge of Will's coffee cake and sat down by the window with a cup of tea. She'd never had to fatten herself up before in her life, but it seemed that, if she was to do so, Will Riker's cooking was the stuff to do it right with. The man's culinary offerings were simple, satisfying and unashamedly calorific. She supposed that it was a good thing the Commander almost always replied on replicator food in space – otherwise, they'd all be the size of houses.

She ate, and thought back to the happy year she'd spent on the Enterprise D – the friends she'd made - how time had changed them… some, more than others…

The door to the kitchen swung open and Data shuffled through.

That in itself was odd. Data wasn't supposed to _shuffle_. And, while she was used to the android having a blank, far-away expression, as though constantly distracted by millions of different concepts and images all whirring through his mind, he had in the past always seemed attentive to the situation in front of him. Over the past couple of days in the lodge, there had been several times when she'd been sure that were she capable of back flipping right past his eyes, she could do so without him so much as noticing.

'Where are the others?' Data asked in a subdued voice.

'They went hiking,' replied Pulaski. 'They only left an hour ago – you should be able to catch up with them in a few minutes.'

Data exhaled deeply, gazing blankly out of the window at the gorgeous wilderness beyond. 'No,' he concluded.

They sat in silence as Pulaski finished off her slice of cake.

'Did you enjoy your nap?'

Data glanced round at her. 'I do not "nap". I activated my dream programme.'

'Of course,' replied Pulaski, dryly. 'So, how were your dreams?'

Data ruminated this for a moment. 'Mediocre.' He paused. 'At least they were not nightmares.'

'You get nightmares, then?'

'Sometimes.'

The android fell quiet again, and went back to staring out of the window. Jeez – time was, you couldn't get him to shut the Hell up – now having a conversation with him was like getting blood out of a stone.

'You sleep an awful lot for somebody who doesn't need to,' added Pulaski, 'don't you? Geordi mentioned that while you two were sailing, you'd go off to activate your dream programme up to three times a day.'

'Did he?' Data replied, absently. 'I happen to enjoy the experience of dreaming.'

'Even when they're mediocre?' Pulaski asked. 'Even when they're nightmares? Wouldn't you rather be experiencing the real world? I can't imagine you've ever had quite so much free time on Earth – the human home world – I'd have thought you'd want to explore it more.'

Data turned around to face her properly. 'You are aware of my current situation – the emotion chip?'

'Still can't switch it off, huh?'

'Although I am determined to eventually find a way to do so, you are correct, Doctor. At present I am forced to experience emotional responses at all times. I am finding this particularly difficult. Dreaming often helps – I find existence easier while I am in a sleep-like state. That is all. Why does everybody seem to have such difficulty understanding that?'

'I'm not the first person to bring this up?'

'Both Geordi and Counsellor Troi have repeatedly approached me on the matter, as though it should give them some concern about my wellbeing, and repeatedly I have had to tell them that there is nothing wrong.'

Pulaski nodded to herself. 'Do you want my opinion?'

'I believe that you may well be about to tell me whether I wish for it or not,' Data replied, 'so please do continue.'

The Doctor took a sip of tea. 'I think you're depressed.'

Data's lips twisted slightly into a faint, incredulous smile. 'A depressed android?'

'How is that any stranger than an android who likes to dream?'

Data didn't reply.

'You're exhibiting several outward signs of depression,' continued Pulaski. 'You seem lethargic, you're detached, you've lost interest in the world around you…' she paused. 'I should know – I sank into a dark place myself recently.'

'When you became ill,' Data deduced.

'No,' replied Pulaski. 'When I got better.'

Data frowned at her.

'When I was sick, everything I did - every thought I had, every dream, every plan – was working towards the time when I'd be well again. I became consumed by that single goal – to overcome the disease and come out the other side. Only, once I'd achieved that goal, I had no idea what to do with myself any more. It's like I'd passed the finish line of a marathon and had no idea where to run to next. Not only that, but recovery turned out to be nothing like I'd hoped it to be. On top of that, all of a sudden I had nothing to do with my life but sit around and think. People like you and I are used to keeping ourselves busy, Mister Data. And here you too are now with nothing to do but sit and think, and occasionally sleep.' She paused. 'For how long has being able to feel emotions been an aspiration of yours, Data?'

Data's gaze shifted off into the middle distance. 'For the entirety of my existence. It was made a more tangible goal when Dr Soong tried to install the chip in me, and the acquisition of the stolen device from Lore made the possibility of gaining emotional responses even more… even more _real_. I have always striven towards emotional capabilities, but during the year that lead up to my activating it, the physical presence of the emotion chip served as a constant reminder of the possibilities it presented. Only…'

'Only,' Pulaski concluded 'now you've got them, you don't know what to do with yourself any more. You've found they're not all you'd built them up to be.'

'It is more difficult than I had expected,' Data admitted, quietly. 'And more negative. I had not been anticipating that. The anger… I had not thought myself to be an angry person.'

'Everybody has to deal with anger,' Pulaski replied. 'You haven't killed anyone yet – how bad can it be?'

'I am considering requesting a transfer.'

The Doctor set down her teacup. 'What?'

'I have a problem,' Data explained. 'There is a fellow Senior Officer with whom I was once particularly close friends… more than friends. We had several dalliances of a sexual nature.'

Pulaski smiled to herself. 'Yes, I heard you and Commander Yar had a bit of a Thing for a while.'

Data paused, his immature emotions making him incapable of hiding his irritation at even Pulaski, out of the loop as she was, knowing about Tasha and he.

'She claimed to love me,' continued Data after a moment, 'and I thought, perhaps, given our previous closeness, I might be able to love her too.'

'But in reality, you don't?'

'In reality,' Data replied, 'I can hardly bear to be in the same room as her. Every time I am in her presence, I am filled with infuriation over memories of our past.'

'So an old romance left you feeling bitter,' Pulaski shrugged. 'Join the club. I bet it's no picnic for Tasha either. But how could that possibly warrant a transfer?'

Data gazed across at her, his expression set with an unfamiliar air of worry. 'I do not believe that I can work with Lieutenant Commander Yar any more.'

'Data, that's ridiculous.'

'Is it? Commander Worf and Counsellor Troi terminated their romantic relationship shortly before the crash, and now he is not to return…'

Pulaski stared at him, aghast. 'Are we talking about two different Worfs here? Do you _seriously_ believe he would make an important career decision like that just because he split up with a crewmate? That's not the Worf I know. That's not like any Starfleet Officer I know – it's certainly not like you, either.'

'How is that not like me?' Data retorted. 'Am I not an individual who struggles with social and romantic relationships, just as I have always been? Only, now I am able to notice when it causes me to be mocked, and feel distress, humiliation and rage when I am laughed at.'

'Nobody's laughing at you, Data…'

'_Everybody _is laughing at me!'

'So you're depressed _and_ paranoid now…'

'I am not paranoid. It is all because of her. She lied to me. She used me. And now that she has begun making protestations of love, it makes me appear the uncharitable one.'

'That doesn't sound like Tasha,' replied Pulaski. 'Are you quite sure you're not exaggerating these wrongdoings?'

'Quite sure, Doctor. Why would I do that?'

'Sometimes we do these things without meaning to,' Pulaski told him. 'I remember one old flame of mine used to make me mad as all Hell every time I so much as heard his name… turned out I just hadn't got over him yet.'

'Believe me, there is no "getting over" Tasha Yar. I am not enamoured with her, and never was. She just…' Data paused. 'She _bothers_ me.'

Pulaski nodded, sagely. 'You know what, Data, there's an old Earth saying that applies pretty much perfectly to this situation.'

'What is that?'

Pulaski leaned in towards him. 'Tough tits.'

Data frowned. 'What does that relative turgidity of hypothetical mammary glands have to do with…'

'It means hard luck, Data. You weren't forced into any sort of sexual relationship with Tasha, were you? You made your own decision, right?'

'Correct, but…'

'Do you know what your chances of getting involved in an on-board romance is for starship dwellers?'

Data blinked 'As a matter of fact, I do not have that information to hand…'

'It's over eighty percent,' interrupted Pulaski. 'And two out of three of those don't last more than six weeks.'

Data regarded the doctor with a peculiar gaze. 'You just made that up.'

'Maybe…'

'Please do not jest about statistics, Doctor. They are not a laughing matter.'

'Look, that's a good approximation of the relationships I've seen spring up and fall apart through all my time working for Starfleet. It's all that Space outside, I think… or the distinct lack of space inside. Does something to people. And I'm afraid, when you end up stuck on a ship in the vast reaches of space with your Ex, you really have no option but to learn to work with them. Especially if you and that other person are Senior Officers.' Pulaski paused. 'From what I heard through the grapevine, you and Tasha actually go back some way – didn't you split up a couple of years ago?'

'Officially, yes,' Data replied. 'Although our dalliances began before you so much as came aboard, Doctor.'

'I honestly couldn't tell,' Pulaski told him. 'And the simple fact that you're still both on Jean-Luc Picard's Senior crew tells me that whatever's gone between you can't have affected your work – your Captain would never put up with that.'

'But I feel emotions now…'

'That's true,' Pulaski nodded. 'You don't have that advantage any more – you're on the same playing field as the rest of us poor saps now. So what? You're surrounded by failed couples all the time, Data – you're vacationing with one, for pity's sake – and they all just have to make the best of it. That's just what you're going to have to do.'

'But…'

'Look – you were always saying you wanted to live as a human, and seeing you now… you're more human than I ever imagined you'd be. But you've got to take the little heartaches that come with a human life. You want to be a man, Data? Be a man. Be a man about this and deal with your feelings for her - don't run away from them just because they're particularly strong, particularly bewildering. And cut Tasha a little slack, for pity's sake. It took two to tango.'

'And if I _were_ depressed, Doctor – which I remain unconvinced about, by the way – is being sternly told simply to learn to deal with the issues that are plaguing me really supposed to cure me of the condition?'

'No,' Pulaski replied, 'that was just a free bit of advice. I'm not the one to go to for psychological ailments – that's not my department. I'm a Doctor, not a therapist.'

'Without meaning to cause offence, Doctor, it shows.'

'So, who would you rather talk to about your problems with me, or with somebody who _is_ actually qualified to help?'

Data sighed a little. 'This is not the first time that I have been cajoled and tricked into seeking counsel from Deanna Troi by a third party.'

'I'm surprised you'd need to be – I had no idea before today that you were capable of being quite so proud and wilful. Anyway, this isn't a trick – I'm telling you straight. Talk to Deanna – and don't quit the Enterprise because of one failed romance. We both know that would be cutting off your nose to spite your face.' Pulaski paused. 'Metaphorically speaking, of course…'

'I am aware of the expression,' replied Data.

The android turned away from her and stared out of the window again in silence. After a while, he rose to his feet.

'I believe,' he announced, 'I shall go for a walk. Alone. It seems to be a nice day outside. Your advice to enjoy Earth while I can was helpful, Doctor. If I am to take a position on the new Enterprise, it is uncertain when I will be given as much opportunity to explore this planet again.'

'You're welcome, Data,' smiled Pulaski. 'While I'm on a roll, may I offer you one more piece of advice?'

'You may.'

Pulaski turned back to her tea. 'Take that last slice of cake with you. It really is terribly good.'

Data looked at the final slice of coffee cake on the stand, then picked it up carefully, set it on a plate and left it, covered, on the end table next to the chair that Tasha had commandeered over the last few days.

'She likes coffee,' he muttered, a little sheepishly, before opening the door and stepping out into the golden sunlight.


	48. Chapter 48

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

The Price

-x-

_Lester Llewellyn died a hero…_

Tasha sat back, frowned at the words she had just written, and quickly deleted them. Lester Llewellyn hadn't died a hero at all. He had been a hero – he had left humanity as a hero – but he had died several hours later as a mindless shell, like so many good men and women that were lost that day. She'd seen the bodies. She'd helped separate the ones they recognised – 'their' dead – from the others, so they could give the drones who were once their colleagues a fitting funeral. But what separated the ones whose faces they knew from the ones they hadn't seen before? They were all Borg at the end. Looking at Llewellyn's pale, lifeless, mutilated form, there had been nothing left of the junior Security Officer that she'd known. Nothing left of the lanky Welshman – the first of his family to ever leave the planet – who couldn't hold his liquor and carried, by his own admission, a torch for Worf bigger than the Cardiff Olympic Stadium's. He'd always been so desperate to impress the Klingon, even though he knew nothing would ever happen between them… he'd always been so determined to prove himself a brave and noble warrior. Taking advantage of Worf's temporary return to the Enterprise, Llewellyn had seized that opportunity a few days ago – or 300 years ago, depending on how you looked at things – and had gone with them to fight the Borg on Deck 16. He hadn't come back with them.

Several members of that team hadn't come back from Deck 16 with them. And now all that was left of those brave crewmen were pale, hollow shells. The Borg had taken everything from them – everything.

And that was what she'd presumed had happened to Data. When she'd seen a pair of grey hands clamouring to pull the android through a gap in the door, she'd believed that she would never see him again, and she'd died inside. She had had to force the despair and grief and horror deep down in order to survive, and she herself had become an automaton, battling her way back to the Bridge, then quietly awaiting orders from her Captain… _most_ of the time. When she had been ordered to abandon ship, a part of her had snapped – a bit of that panic she'd felt when Data had been dragged under the door had risen back to the surface, and she'd begged to be allowed to stay and try to find the android. Her request had been soundly denied, and she had been escorted onto an escape pod, her hopes destroyed, her imagination alive with what might have been happening to him.

Because they'd been warned. Dammit, they'd been _warned_, and although she'd repeated that warning to him several times after engaging the Borg, still he'd put himself in danger's way. And she had still let him.

She hadn't known that the Captain was staying behind to rescue the android himself until they'd received the transmission that the Borg had been eliminated and Data liberated, hours later. According to Captain Picard, it had been a snap decision to do so. His reasoning for not allowing Tasha to make the rescue mission herself still held – she didn't know what she was up against; Picard did.

She still didn't know what they'd been up against – not really. All she had were Data and Picard's reports, and she knew - she _knew_ – that those reports didn't tell the full story.

Everything was different now. She had been relieved when she'd heard that Data had been pulled back from the Borg's clutches, but she hadn't rejoiced the way she had all those other times that the android had been returned to them from almost certain death.

She hadn't rejoiced because nobody ever truly comes back from the Borg. Not completely. Just as the bodies of Llewellyn and all those other men and women had been left disfigured, just as Jean-Luc Picard had been left with the scars of Locutus on his soul, so she expected Data to now remain tainted by the Borg for the rest of his days.

She thought about this as he approached her table. She could tell from his stance that he was still operating without emotions. It was a mercy that at least during the difficult past year Data had spent operating with the emotion chip, he had found a way to temporarily switch it off at will. She wasn't sure how he'd have coped over the last two days otherwise. She certainly wasn't sure how he'd cope once he elected to switch them back on… _if_ he ever elected to switch them back on. She'd read in the report that when the Borg had taken him, they'd overridden that control he'd fought to exert over his emotion chip. They'd forced him to experience everything they'd done to him with his still-raw capacity for fear, horror, humiliation and misery unhindered… and she could tell what it was they had done to him – what it was that he had omitted from his report. Even without his emotions, she could see it in what was left of his eyes. She could practically smell it on him. Were she in his position, she'd never want to feel emotions ever again if she could possibly help it.

She reminded herself quickly that she _had_ been in his position, if she was correct about what had happened in Engineering. Lurid memories of Turkana flashed through her mind. Some of the things that had been done to her, and that she had made the decision to do in order to survive… the shame she felt back then still haunted her. Whatever it was exactly that had happened to Data, it would seem that they were going to be in the same boat from now on – dirty people with dirty pasts that could never be made clean again.

He sat down opposite her.

'Hello, Tasha.'

'Hi.' She found meeting his gaze difficult. Matters weren't helped by the fact that half of his face was still missing. They had taken the synthetic skin from the same patch of skull that they would have removed for the eye implant had they made him a Drone. He looked like one of the bodies they'd retrieved. She cast her eyes back down to her eulogy.

'I understand that you are writing memorial speeches for the Security Officers lost during the Borg's appropriation of the ship,' said Data. 'I feel that it is a mistake for you to attempt to do so without assistance. It is a task that I believe would be impossible for you to perform alone in the time allotted.'

Tasha shook her head. 'They were my staff, Data. I want to give each and every one of them as fitting a tribute as possible. I owe them that at the very least.'

'The memorial service will be in forty-seven hours time,' Data reminded her, 'and you have twenty-four separate eulogies to write, as well as working extra hours to…'

'Twenty-_five_,' corrected Tasha. She blinked up at him, frowning worriedly at his nonplussed expression.

Oh God. Didn't he know? Had nobody told him yet? He _had_ to know…

'Pardon me, Tasha, but I was under the impression that twenty-four Security Officers were lost. It is possible that our records are inconsistent, given the…'

'You don't know,' interrupted Tasha, 'do you?'

Data's expression didn't change. 'What do I not know?'

Tasha took in a sharp breath. 'Shit. Data… they told me, so I assumed they'd told you too, but everything being so chaotic right now, I guess…' she felt tears burning the corners of her eyes. 'Oh, God. Data, I'm so sorry…'

Data still gazed at her, confused. 'About what?'

'Starfleet received warning about the Borg two hours before they reached the Terran system,' Tasha replied. 'The Borg cube was spotted by a Science ship off making routine observations. According to the ship's final transmissions, once they realised the cube was heading for Earth, a decision was made to try to slow the Borg down as much as possible, to give Starfleet as much time to gather its defencive force as they could. They knew their weaponry was nowhere near powerful enough to so much as make a dent in the cube, so the Security Chief made the suggestion that… that they ram the cube, in the hope that the resulting warp core breach would do them at least some sort of damage. All hands were lost.' Tasha wiped a couple of errant tears from the edges of her eyes. 'It was the Iris.'

Data sat motionless for a couple of seconds, while the information sank in. 'Jenna. Jenna D'Sora is… _was_… Security Chief of the Iris.'

'I can't believe they didn't tell you.' Tasha shook her head down at the table. 'Starfleet Command only contacted me about it this morning. They asked me to write her memorial because I'm the last Officer she served under who's still alive.'

'Why would they think to inform me?' Data asked, quietly. 'We were romantically involved for only two days.'

Tasha reached out as though to take his hand in sympathy, but stopped short, deciding to brush her fingers gently over the cuff of his sleeve instead.

'Are you OK?'

'I am not in any distress at present.'

'But you've got your emotions switched off.'

'That is true.'

'And what about when you switch them back on…?'

'I imagine that the recent events will have a negative effect on my…' Data frowned faintly down at her hand, still playing at his sleeve. 'On my feelings.'

'Oh, you think?' Tasha pulled her hand back. 'Data, I know you've been struggling with depression and anger issues as it is since you got your emotions…'

'How do you know that?' Data blinked. 'Have you been reading my Psychiatric Evaluations? You are not cleared to access that information…'

'I just know, OK? I know you. And when or if you ever decide to experience emotions again, I think it's going to surprise you how hard what's happened over the last few days will hit you. We've lost so many good people, and you personally have gone through so much…'

'You do not know what I went through,' interjected Data, quickly.

'Of course not,' replied Tasha. 'You were brought back from the Borg – that's all I need to know.'

Data got to his feet. 'Would it be acceptable for me to write Jenna's eulogy in your stead, Tasha? Besides our brief courtship, we had an amicable relationship for some time. I do not believe that she would have wanted to be one of twenty-five hurried obituaries.'

Tasha nodded. 'I think you're right.'

He turned to go, but she held out a hand to stop him.

'They _did_ slow the Borg cube,' Tasha told him. 'The Borg arrived in the Terran system 20 minutes later than estimated, given their speed and trajectory. It was probably the most important 20 minutes in Earth's history. If it hadn't been for that delay, by the time the Enterprise would have got to Earth, it would have been too late. Without the memories Captain Picard retained from Locutus turned against them, they'd have wiped the Federation out there and then. Jenna died saving humanity – and she died as Jenna, not some mindless Drone, like Llewellyn or the rest of those poor, assimilated bastards. It was a good death.'

Data stared back at her, that old, faint sadness in his eyes. 'She was 33 years old,' was his only reply.

'I'm so sorry,' repeated Tasha.

But Data had already gone.


	49. Chapter 49

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Mr Data and Miss Yar Send Their Regrets

-x-

Chapter one: An Englishman, An Irishman and a Klingon walk into a bar…

-x-

'He's pacing.'

'Yes. I know.'

'I don't think I've ever seen him pace before.'

'He's entitled to pace.'

'He looks worried. Doesn't he look worried? I wonder why he looks worried.'

'You've never been married. I wouldn't expect you to understand.'

'I'm going to talk to him.'

'Why do you have to talk to him? He's a brooder, not a talker. Let him brood. He's good at brooding. It's his Thing.'

'Yes, but he's _pacing_.'

Julian Bashir hurried up to the tense Klingon with Miles O'Brien trailing behind, still protesting.

'Worf?'

'Mnn?'

'Are you all right?'

'Nnmm.'

'It's just… you're pacing to and fro rather a lot, and we wondered if anything was bothering you in particular.'

'Anything _bothering_ him?' O'Brien snorted an incredulous little laugh. 'He's getting married tomorrow, and you ask if anything's bothering him?'

Worf just frowned and shook his head.

'You remember _my_ wedding day?' O'Brien continued. 'Keiko getting last minute cold feet and then that bloody debacle with the "dancing", if that was what they called it… it's a stressful day.'

'That is not the issue,' argued Worf.

Bashir and O'Brien exchanged glances. 'So, _you're_ getting the jitters?'

'Nobody has the jitters!' Worf snapped.

There was a pause.

'Then why are you so…'

'Because the shuttle is late, since you insist on knowing,' retorted Worf.

'That's all?' asked Bashir. 'A couple of late guests? They've still got 24 hours to get here, Worf.'

O'Brien's expression began to mirror Worf's troubled frown. 'Wait… this is the shuttle from the Enterprise? Oh. Yes, that _is_ quite worrying.'

'Why is that such a cause for concern?' Bashir asked.

'Because Data's piloting that shuttle,' replied O'Brien, 'and Data's never late. Have you contacted the Enterprise yet, Worf?'

'Of course,' growled the Klingon. 'The shuttle left on schedule but all contact with it was lost three hours ago and I _know_ you're listening to us, Quark, so why don't you just join in with the discussion instead of trying to look inconspicuous?'

Quark looked up from the object on the floor that he'd been pretending to inspect. 'Trying to look inconspicuous? Me? Worf, honestly – all I was doing was studying this…' he pointed vaguely down at the blackened, slimy object on the floor. 'This _fascinating_…'

'…potato,' finished O'Brien, gazing down at the mucky lump.

'Yes,' confirmed Quark, confidently. 'I was just studying this fascinating potato on the floor.'

'A half-eaten piece of food,' added O'Brien, 'most likely dropped off the plate of a messy eater and kicked half-way across the promenade. You expect us to believe that you're enthralled by trash?'

'I like potatoes,' Quark replied, aware that he was starting to flounder. 'Round… starchy…' He decided that this line of conversation wasn't doing him any favours and so changed tack brightly to the matter in hand. 'So, the android's unaccounted for, then, is it?'

Worf lashed out a hand and grabbed the Ferengi's collar. 'What do you know?'

Quark treated Worf to his most charming smile and tried to retain a soothing tone, in spite of his tightening collar. 'Nothing! Nothing!'

Worf further tightened his grip on Quark's clothing.

'Look,' continued Quark, trying his best not to let his assuring smile fade, 'I may possibly have been informed lately as to certain parties that are interested in… adopting Starfleet's android.'

'There's a bounty out on Data?' asked Bashir.

'Are you surprised?' asked Quark. 'It's a unique piece of equipment.'

'How much is this bounty?'

'A lot. More than a lot. "A lot" to the power of ten. There's a price out on the woman who was coming too – Yar, is it? Not nearly as much as the android, but enough to make the pair of them in an under-defended little shuttle very tempting indeed. Frankly, I'm surprised the Enterprise's Captain let them make a long trip unescorted like that, given the current climate.'

'Starfleet Captains have better things to do with their time than to pay as much attention to the state of the Black Market as a common Ferengi,' replied Worf with a snarl.

Quark shrugged as genially as possible. 'And where does that attitude get you people? With your females and androids stolen from under your noses, that's where.'

Worf's expression didn't alter in the slightest. 'You will tell me everything that you know – which sources that have put a price on Commanders Data and Yar's heads; which Bounty Hunters might have intercepted the shuttle; their tactics, their ships, their weaponry, their bases…'

'Commander, I would just love to help you out,' beamed Quark, 'but I've already told you what little I know. Perhaps I could ask certain questions of some of my contacts… although I'm sure you gentlemen would agree that for me to compromise my position like that for Starfleet's benefit shouldn't go without some kind of fiscal reward…'

'You wouldn't have had a plan of your own to try to abduct Worf's lucrative guests, would you, Quark?' O'Brien interrupted.

Quark opened his eyes wide. 'The close friends of several of _my_ closest friends? During the wedding of the year? I'd never dream of it!'

'So,' O'Brien continued, 'if we were to take a look at that Holosuite that's been mysteriously out of use for the last three days, we wouldn't find some sort of elaborate trap programmed in to it?'

Quark barely paused at all. 'Of course not.'

'Because Starfleet would take the attempted abduction of two Senior Officers very seriously indeed,' added Bashir.

'I imagine that they would,' Quark replied, levelly. 'I can tell that this is an area of much concern to you fine gentlemen. You shouldn't waste your time with one out-of-use Holosuite when the information I have for you – asking nothing in return except your continued friendship and loyal custom – may well help you to track down whatever miscreant has taken your missing crew…'

'Not to mention,' added Bashir, 'possibly eliminating a Black Market business rival…'

'That never so much as crossed my mind,' Quark replied. 'Please. Step into my bar. We have a lot to discuss.'

-x-

'Well, this is just _perfect_.'

'Quiet.'

'I mean, I was in two minds about going to this damn thing from the start. I mean – a wedding. I hate weddings. Did I mention that I hated weddings?'

'Yes you did. Now shut up.'

'But it's my Best Friend's wedding, and the last time I saw him, we were both busy trying to get our respective ships back the way they were and licking our wounds from the Borg, so I _had_ to go, really. You were on Earth when the Borg attacked, weren't you?'

A hand gripped her throat. 'Make her shut up!'

'Tasha,' warned Data quietly from the other side of the tiny holding cell. 'Do not provoke him. That would not bode well for either of us.'

'The prison you were kept in was on Antarctica,' continued Tasha, regardless of the fingers around her throat or Data's warning, 'wasn't it, Mr Fajo? You went in there before the first Borg attack on Earth and didn't escape until soon after the second. Meaning, we saved your life – at great personal cost – twice. And for what?'

'Why don't you just listen to your boyfriend and shut your stinking mouth?' Fajo retorted through gritted teeth.

'As I mentioned before,' Data told him, ' Lieutenant Commander Yar and I are not in a romantic relationship. In fact, over the past two years, our social interactions with one another have been considerably strained – I doubt that, at present, one could so much as describe she and I as being friends. The emotional attachment to her that you believe you will be able to use against me does not exist. You have no reason to keep her as a hostage.'

'Nice try,' replied Fajo, 'but don't think I didn't notice how quickly you gave up the fight and got into your restraints once my disruptor was pointed at her head.' Fajo visibly relaxed at the memory of his success in capturing the android for a second time, and took a step away from Tasha. 'Besides, I have plans of my own for Miss Yar…'

'If your intention is to intimidate either of us…' began Data.

'Um.' Fajo grinned sharply. 'I'd say I'd managed that already – wouldn't you? The looks on your faces after I'd opened fire on that pathetic little shuttle and beamed you out of the resulting fireball… You truly weren't expecting to ever see me again, were you? You thought prison could hold me, didn't you?'

'We heard about your escape,' Tasha told him. 'You certainly weren't the only prisoner on Earth to use the confusion after the Borg's attack as a smokescreen to slink away under. Admittedly, I don't think anybody expected you to be a threat after you'd been stripped of your assets. You didn't seem like the sort of person who had much going for him besides a lot of money.'

'How do you think I got so rich in the first place?' Fajo asked. 'Charity work? Saying please? I am formidable, Yar. Formidable and irrepressible. The whole time I was locked up in Antarctica, I was setting my plans in motion – for my escape, my return to glory and, most importantly, my revenge.'

'And that's what this is about, is it?' Tasha asked. 'Vengeance?'

'In part,' admitted Fajo, 'but, by happy coincidence, the pair of you just so happen to be in the perfect position to become the first big step in the restoration of my fortune.' He turned back to Data with a sharp grin. 'Maybe you should have thought about how profitable you might be before making an enemy of somebody who is so very, very good with money.'

Data stared back at Fajo. If Tasha didn't know Data so well, she'd assume that he was running with his emotion chip switched off. She knew that expression, however – that superficial mask of blankness – it was his Game Face, and it always caught the new players out.

'Was not abducting me the last time supposed to be the event that was to bring you unlimited glory?' Data asked, calmly. 'That occasion did not progress according to your expectations, did it?'

'Your little friends managed to rescue you,' replied Fajo, irritably, 'but, believe me, that won't be happening this time.'

'Was it really me who was saved?' Data asked.

'They beamed you out of there like a mother cat scooping up a sickly kitten,' Fajo retorted.

'That is not what I asked.'

Fajo took a breath to angrily respond, but stopped short as his Comms earpiece chirruped an incoming message. He tapped the device.

'What is it?' He asked whoever was contacting him. 'I'm busy right… what?'

Tasha had no idea what was being said to Fajo through the earpiece, but she could tell that her abductor didn't like whatever news he was receiving.

'_What?_' He glowered at his prisoners. 'Hang on,' he told the earpiece, before addressing Tasha and Data. 'I have an important call to take,' he announced, taking a step towards the door of the holding cell. 'Don't you two go anywhere, now… I mean, you can't – it's physically impossible – but best not to even try. It would be rude.'

Fajo left the cell quickly. The door shut behind him, auto-locked and finally hummed as a strong force field powered up in front of it. Fajo really wasn't taking any chances this time, it seemed. Tasha wondered why he'd put so much effort into securing a door that neither she nor Data could even get to. She had been attached to a wall of the cell with thick shackles around her wrists – Fajo had been right, she wasn't going anywhere. And if her restraints seemed over-the-top, Data's were almost comic in their severity. Fajo hadn't taken the disruptor from Tasha's head until Data had got himself into the elaborate restraints. A contraption resembling a metal straightjacket kept him pinned to the cell wall opposite her, and if that wasn't enough, a second force field entirely surrounded him, sitting only a couple of centimetres from his body at every point, rendering the android almost completely immobile.

They sat at opposite walls of the cell and stared at each other in silence for a while.

'You know what this reminds me of?' Tasha asked, suddenly. 'That stupid Holodeck programme. You know – the detective story where we got double booked and wound up chained together on a boat?'

'That was a game,' Data reminded her, 'this is not.'

'I'm aware of that, thank you Data.'

Data paused. 'I will admit, there are certain similarities between the fantasy of that predicament and the realities of this one. However, we cannot stop this situation at will.'

'We didn't stop _that_ one,' Tasha recalled. 'We worked through it.'

'We fought our way out, chained at the ankles, with nothing on our side but brute force, luck and a pair of stiletto heels,' replied Data. 'I do not believe that that will work in this case.'

Tasha smiled at the memory. 'You picked a bobby pin from my hair with your teeth to jimmy the padlock with.'

'Yes, I did.' Data's expression was strange - faraway and fond.

'It was fun,' added Tasha.

'At the time, I was incapable of enjoyment,' Data told her. 'But, in retrospect; yes. It was fun.'

Tasha giggled a little. 'When the Captain threw himself overboard because he couldn't stand being in the room with our dumb squabbling for another moment…'

Data snorted a soft laugh to himself, sharing the memory of Captain Picard's desperate escape. Tasha silently rejoiced – it had been a very long time since she'd last seen him express amusement.

'I would certainly sooner be back there than here.'

Tasha nodded in agreement. 'Any escape plans yet?'

'Several,' confirmed Data, 'although all so far involve me being out of these restraints.'

'Mine, too,' replied Tasha.

There was another long pause.

'Do you ever go back to Wonderland?' Data asked after some time.

Tasha frowned a little at the unexpected line of enquiry. 'I thought all the Holodeck programmes were destroyed when the old ship crashed.'

'Not so,' Data replied. 'Lieutenant Barclay was able to salvage many of them, including the Wonderland simulation.'

'Oh,' said Tasha, flatly. 'To be honest, Data, I never used it again after we broke up… longer than that, actually – I haven't been since that time we lost our memories. I don't know – it's like us having sex in the simulation has ruined it somehow.'

'It was intended to be a place where we could both act out a childhood we never had,' Data reasoned. 'By performing sexual acts within it, we shattered that illusion.'

'Can't even hold on to a pretend childhood. Sounds about right for us.' She paused. 'Do you ever go back there?'

'No,' replied Data. 'I was merely curious.'

There was another, very long silence.

Tasha puffed quietly to fill the awkward pause.

'Worf's gonna be pissed. The only two of his old Enterprise friends to get the leave time to go to his wedding, and we manage to get captured on the way.'

'I can imagine.'

There was another pause.

'His wife-to-be is a joined Trill,' added Data, matter-of-factly.

'Yep. Used to be a guy, too. Or part of her did, at least.'

'To adopt a human phrase; I never saw that one coming.'

Tasha smiled to herself. 'No. Me neither. Life's a funny thing. Throws you curveballs like that.'

'We should know.' Data offered her a small smile, which dropped suddenly, as if he had just remembered something terrible. He cast his eyes back down at the floor.

Yet another heavy silence fell. Tasha fought the urge to try to talk to him any more about what had passed between them, and the stronger urge to ask him, as she had fruitlessly done so many times since the Borg attack, to share his troubles with her.

After a while, she felt the desperate need to speak again. 'So what do we do now?'

'Have you thought of any ways that we can escape while bound in this manner?'

'No.'

'Then, we wait.'

-x-

It was over an hour before Fajo returned to the cell, and did so frantic with rage.

'There's been a change of plan,' seethed their captor. 'I don't want you to get the wrong idea – this is not good news for either of you. We were going to have a nice little detour – set a few things straight. It was going to be _fun_…' Fajo clawed at his temples. 'Damn it all!'

Data gazed at Fajo. 'You were taking me to see Palor Toff, were you not? The fellow collector who you were so anxious to impress when you first abducted me. It infuriated and frustrated you that my refusal to interact with him caused him to believe that I was a forgery. You were going to use threats against Commander Yar's safety as a means of forcing me to rectify that, were you not?'

'All these years,' muttered Fajo, more to himself than to either of them, 'I've clung to the look he'd have on his face when he saw you – under my ownership, my control… and now that's never going to happen. I was so close – so close!'

'He died,' interjected Tasha, 'didn't he?'

'He'd been sick for months,' Fajo replied, absently. 'Then as soon as I finally get my hands on you again, he gets away from me. It's as if he _knew_… He got the last laugh after all.' Fajo puffed out a long, deep breath, steadying himself. 'This thing isn't about kudos any more. It's just about wealth now. Wealth and revenge. You think _I_ was an uncharitable host, Mister Data? There are people who are paying me to bring you to them that will change your mind about that, believe me. You're going to wish you never left my ship in the first place – you'll wish you were still in that room with my paintings and my baseball cards doing exactly what I told you, when I told you like a good little robot.'

'I find that hard to believe,' Data replied. 'Nevertheless, if I am indeed to be sold on, then I must reiterate that you have no cause to retain Commander Yar as a captive…'

'I'm trying to rebuild a fortune, Mister Data,' retorted Fajo, 'and as such have no intention to relieve myself of a healthy woman of childbearing age without fair payment. I've already found a buyer for your girlfriend, thank you very much.'

'Let her go, Fajo. It is I with whom you hold a grudge, not her…'

'I'll be OK, Data,' Tasha murmured. 'It's you I'm worried about…'

'Hear that? She'll be fine, Data. She looks like the kind who's been round the block a few times anyway…'

'Hey!' Tasha snapped.

'I'm sure if she shows her new owner a good time she'll get by all right,' Fajo continued. 'Not that you'll get to meet him, Mister Data. We'll be liaising with your highest bidder in two hours, and I really don't think they'll be as easily placated. You've made some powerful enemies in your time, for a professed pacifist. Very powerful enemies.'


	50. Chapter 50

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Mr Data And Miss Yar Send Their Regrets

-x-

Chapter Two - The Halo

-x-

Tasha woke up.

The first thing that she realised was that she was slumped in a half-seated position, with manacles chaining her wrists to the wall. She remembered the holding cell, the abduction, Fajo… She couldn't remember going to sleep. How had she fallen asleep in such a situation…? Perhaps she'd been drugged, or stunned. She certainly had a very strange, thick feeling in her head unlike that which normal sleep left her with. She blinked across at the other side of the cell.

The metal straightjacket was empty.

Data was gone.

-x-

Data woke up.

As his systems calculated how long he had been offline for (3 hours, 17 minutes, 28 seconds) and attempted to ascertain what damage had been done by overloading his neural net into shutdown (results: unknown – insufficient information), he tried to get to his feet and found that he could not.

He was no longer bound – his limbs were unfettered, and there was no force field restraining him. Indeed, he _could_ move… only, doing so was unusually difficult – terrifically so, in fact. For the first time that he could recall, he was acutely aware of his own heaviness, and he did not have the strength within him to lift such a weight. He realised as he attempted unsuccessfully to control the anxiety and distress arising from not being able to get up that his emotion chip had been overridden (oh no, oh shit no, not again, not again, not Her). It was only as he reasoned to himself that the chances of the Borg employing a Bounty Hunter to bring them their prey were negligible that he relaxed ever so slightly. He was still, however, physically and emotionally compromised, had no idea where he was, who his captors were or what their intentions were towards him and no clue as to Tasha's whereabouts. He was still, as Commander Riker had put it once, "lost on the silage sea with a hole in his canoe".

The door opened, and somebody walked in – a Romulan female that he had never seen before. As she approached, he saw that there was a large burn scar covering much of the left half of her face. She stood over him, gazing down with an expression of utter loathing as he tried in vain to get up again.

'Try as long as you like,' said the Romulan, 'it's quite amusing watching you flail like a newborn animal.'

Data stopped struggling. 'You have incapacitated my mobility somehow…'

'Correct,' replied the Romulan. 'Can you feel the device in the small of your back?'

With difficulty, Data moved his arm over so that his fingers could brush over a rough implant – 18.5cm by 7.75cm – embedded into the base of his spinal column.

'My own invention,' added the disfigured Romulan with an element of pride. 'I call it the Inhibitor. I'm glad to see that it works.'

'Why has the Romulan Empire gone to such expense to bring me here?' Data asked. 'What do you intend to do with me?'

The Romulan crouched down and pushed her face closer to Data's. 'Commandeered equipment doesn't ask its new owners what will become of it.'

'If I have indeed been commandeered by the Romulans as a piece of equipment or even a weapon, then why have I been woken? Why am I not still offline, being disassembled and studied? Why inhibit my movements and override my emotional controls?'

The Romulan's stance didn't alter. 'You don't know who I am, do you?'

Data shook his head weakly.

'My name's Poklar,' the Romulan continued. 'Sound familiar now?'

'There was a mention of a Romulan scientist named Poklar in a report given by a colleague of mine several years ago,' Data replied. 'She had been able to access some of the computer files of a Romulan Commander…'

'I'm not just any scientist,' interrupted Poklar. 'I'm one of the greatest experts in cybernetics in the Empire. And for the past six years, I have made it my sole pursuit in life to study the Soong models. In short, to study you. Not to understand you, not to recreate you, but to control you. You are a menace, android, but you can be made useful… with help from devices such as the Inhibitor.'

'How does one study something that one has never seen?'

'Who said I'd never seen you?'

'To my knowledge,' Data reasoned, 'you have not. I do not believe that we have been in one another's presence before now.'

'Oh,' Poklar replied, 'but we have.'

'But I cannot recall…' Data trailed off. 'Lore.' He blinked up at Poklar. 'When you say "you", you are referring to the plural, are you not? You are referring to both Soong models – to my brother Lore as well as myself. I heard that he was briefly captured by the Romulans before escaping…'

'You wouldn't stop giggling,' Poklar replied, dreamily. 'Of course, we weren't equipped with any of the technology that we have now – we had nothing to make you comply but physical restrains and an attempt at persuasion. It had no chance of subduing you. You wouldn't stop giggling.'

'That was my brother,' Data reminded her. 'That was not me. Lore is gone now. There is only me.'

'There is only you,' echoed Poklar. She paused, momentarily. 'You were still giggling when you ripped yourself free of the bars holding you down. You were still giggling when you snapped the spine of my lab partner – my husband - and used his weapon to blow a computer bank up in my face. You were still giggling when you stopped at the door… when you could have just gone, you could have just walked free, but you turned back and kicked me in the belly because you could see that I was pregnant. I _was_ pregnant…'

She trailed off. Data took in a deep, trembling breath. He had never really been forced to face up to the results of Lore's Sadism with his emotions functioning before now.

'I can only apologise on my brother's behalf,' he replied, 'and I do – most sincerely. He was a deeply disturbed being. But he is gone.' He lowered his tone in confession. 'I killed him myself.'

'There is only you,' repeated Poklar.

'That is correct.'

'There is only you, Lore.'

'No! No, I am not Lore. I am…'

'"I am all the daughters of my father's house, and all the brothers too"… You do like the Human poet Shakespeare, don't you?'

'I do like Shakespeare,' Data replied. 'I like dramas and detective adventures… I like Terran Classical music, and 20th Century musicals, and have recently discovered a fondness for the works of Sir David Bowie. I like Picasso. I like cats. Lore seemed only to like his own elevation and the torment and destruction of all other things. I am not Lore. Please believe that.'

'But,' Poklar reiterated yet again, ' there is only you. And you will know my pain.'

'I already know your pain,' Data reasoned. 'I too have lost a child. I too have recently been bereaved of a former romantic partner. I too have been the recipient of Lore's cruelty.'

'I didn't mean emotionally,' replied Poklar. 'I meant physically.' She stood up, towering over the prone android once more. 'You've never felt pain, have you? You thought your creator made you untouchable, didn't you?'

'Actually, that is no longer true. Recently there was…'

'Built without the capacity for pain,' interrupted Poklar. 'Invulnerable – aloof from we poor animals, yes?'

'Until recently, I would have…' managed Data before being cut off again. Poklar had clearly decided upon her address some time ago and had no interest in allowing an unexpected response to make her deviate from her prepared speech.

'You see, that's where I come in,' Poklar continued, unabashed. 'I used to study you, but now I have become your tutor. I intend to teach you to feel agony.'

Poklar turned, and started walking towards a locker in a corner of the cell.

'And how is this intended to benefit the Romulan Empire?' Data asked.

Poklar didn't reply.

'Do the Senate or the Romulan Military even know that I am here?'

There was still no answer as she opened up the locker.

'Are you angry with me because I eliminated Lore before you had the opportunity to exact a personal revenge upon him for his violence towards you?'

Poklar turned around; the object that she had retrieved from the locker in her hands. It was a dull, heavy metal ring the circumference of his cranium, with a single, 48cm tail of interlocking joints trailing down from it. Long needles protruded from both the ring and the tail throughout. The design was crude – or perhaps it had been deliberately created to appear positively Medieval, to create an air of fear and horror about the device.

'I call this the Halo,' announced Poklar. 'I'm sure you can make an educated guess as to its intended application.'

'To simulate physical pain in Soong model androids.'

'Correct. I have other prototypes as well, in case this one doesn't work, but I have to admit – the Halo is my favourite. I'm confident that it will be very effective.'

She walked back over to him and fitted the ring over his head so that the tail ran down the centre of his back. He did not have the strength to struggle as she began pushing the needles into him – even if he had, he did not believe that an attempt to fight would have benefited him – he was certain that he would merely have been sent offline again until the device was fitted.

'Doesn't hurt,' muttered the Romulan as she buried the needles beneath his synthetic skin, 'not yet. Are you ready to be introduced to pain?'

'I have already been "introduced", as you say, to that sensation.'

Poklar pushed in the last needle with a frown. 'What?'

'I have been trying to tell you throughout our conversation,' Data replied. 'After the second Borg attack on Earth, some of the Borg boarded the Enterprise – including their Queen. I was abducted, and had organic skin grafted onto me. I was able to feel both pain and tactile pleasure – both were used in the attempt to make me release certain encryption codes, and to join with them.'

Poklar stared at him. 'I knew that.' He could tell from her expression that she was lying.

'Furthermore,' Data added, 'when I turned against them, I released a tank of plasma coolant in order to destroy the Queen. It stripped the organic flesh from my body. It hurt. So, I do already know your pain in a physical sense. I know what it is like to burn.'

Poklar blinked, and knelt back from him. 'For how long?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'You say that all your flesh corroded away. So it can't have hurt for very long.'

'3.17 seconds,' replied Data. 'But, to an android…'

'Three _seconds?_' Poklar scoffed. 'Pain doesn't work that way for the rest of us. Our flesh isn't disposable. When we burn, we keep on burning, for hours… days… weeks… months. The pain goes on, and on and on. Do you want to know what _that_ feels like?'

'No,' said Data, truthfully.

Poklar reached behind his head and tinkered with a dial just above the tail of the Halo. Then, she sat back again and watched him intently.

At first his body did not seem to know what the sensation was, even though he had experienced it before. On a basic level, it was something that his reflexes wanted to get away from, although when he weakly recoiled, the feeling he was trying instinctively to escape stayed with him. The sensation changed swiftly from an indistinct unpleasantness into something far more tangible – a searing, blistering pain over the whole of the surface of his body. It was the feeling of flesh dissolving in a gas of plasma, only it was everywhere, not just on his arm and face. Was this what She had felt, he wondered. Was this the pain that She had felt when he had pulled her under the plasma cloud to burn with him? Had She deserved such an end? He had felt at the time that She had, but now…?

The 3.17 second mark came and went. 5 seconds. 10… 30…. a minute, and still he burned. He was aware of a strange sound – a harsh, metallic screech that he assumed had to be issuing from him, even though his teeth were fiercely gritted shut. After 94.75 seconds, Poklar reached for the dial again, and the pain subsided.

Poklar smiled gently as he struggled to collect himself.

'You don't scream with your mouth – did you realise that?'

Data did not answer. For some reason, he was only superficially aware of what was going on in front of him – it was as though he were watching it on a screen… watching it on a screen from a table in Engineering, surrounded by blank drone faces while She smiled down at him.

'When you scream,' Poklar continued, 'it seems to come from deep within you – the very core of you. The agony and the horror completely bypasses that box in your throat full of the vocal tones of your creator. It's the one time that you don't sound like Soong – you sound like… like what you are, like a machine. Maybe, for the first time, we have been witness to your true voice, Lore.'

'I am not Lore. Lore is dead.'

Only, in Engineering, in his mind's eye, She ran her fingers through his hair and whispered; _'it doesn't matter. The name they gave you doesn't matter. Data… Lore… they are meaningless now. You are both. You are neither. You. Are. Mine.'_

Poklar leaned in close, excitement in her eyes. 'I want to hear it again!'

'Why are you doing this to me? I am not Lore!'

'Scream again.'

In Engineering, She added _'yes, scream. Do it for me. Show me how much I horrify you. Show me how much I haunt you. You owe me that much.'_

'No,' breathed Data.

Poklar reached behind him.

The pain was different this time – it was deep and abdominal, as though the whole of his torso was crushing itself in a long, agonising spasm. He was determined not to make that sound again. At first it was almost impossible keeping the metallic "scream" from issuing forth, but after a while, he began to find that it actually helped – concentrating on remaining quiet diverted the core of his focus away from the pain. The pain was artificial. He was not being damaged. He would not scream. He would not scream.


	51. Chapter 51

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Mr Data & Miss Yar Send Their Regrets

-x-

Chapter Three – Some Are Born To Endless Night

-x-

Fajo entered the cell once more, leering at Tasha.

'I used to view Mister Data as the most prized potential addition to my collection,' he said. 'Once I'd got my hands on him, I was never going to let him go. I was going to treasure him. He was the one who ruined that dream – not me. It was a little strange just giving him up to the highest bidder without so much as a goodbye, but there you go. With what I was paid for him, I'm well on my way to getting my fortune back, and isn't that what really matters?'

'What have you done with him?' Tasha asked. 'Who have you traded him to?'

Fajo shrugged. 'You may as well know – there's nothing you can do about it now. A handsome bounty was put out for him by a Romulan cyberneticist by the name of Dr Poklar.'

Tasha's eyes widened. '_Poklar_?'

'You've heard of her?'

'I read some reports she'd written,' panicked Tasha. 'She's not just a cyberneticist, she's… she's insane. She'd started building these machines to… she wanted to torture him. Him or Lore or any android she could get her hands on…'

'Torture?' Fajo raised his eyebrows. 'Couldn't happen to a more deserving fellow.'

'I won't let you get away with this,' Tasha told him. 'I'm going to find a way out of this, and I'm going to rescue him, and you are going to pay. Not necessarily in that order…'

'Torture,' repeated Fajo, reflectively. 'Well, that would certainly make controlling him a whole lot easier. You have no idea how many times when I first had him in my hospitality I wished that I could just… just hurt him.' He balled his fists. 'Let's see him and his beloved Passive Resistance get out of that one.'

-x-

Data could see Poklar growing more and more frustrated as he resisted the Halo's effects, and after 198 seconds, she switched off the pain simulation again. She glowered at him furiously, calculating her next move.

'I can make some alterations to the device,' she announced, 'increase the levels of pain.'

'The effect upon me would be the same,' Data replied.

Poklar sat back on her haunches, still watching him. 'What "Queen"?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'You mentioned that the Borg had a Queen – a leader. I always thought they were a collective. Since they came to the system, everyone's thought they were a collective. No Queen has ever tried to communicate with any ship or station or planet that they've attacked. And yet, she revealed herself to you. What an honour.'

Data paused. 'This line of questioning is irrelevant.'

Poklar looked down at her knees. 'You're probably right. It probably is…' she glanced up at him again, catching his gaze, '…futile.'

Data did not answer. In Engineering, She leaned in close to him, and whispered in his ear; '_she knows_'.

'What did they want you for, anyway?' asked Poklar. 'They can't assimilate you, can they?'

'They wanted encryption codes that I had written which would grant them access to the ship's computer.'

'I see.' Poklar paused for a moment, then leaned forwards and switched the Halo on again. Suddenly, Data felt as though thousands of scalpel blades were slicing into every centimetre of his skin. Only 15 seconds passed before Poklar stopped the simulation again.

'I can make all of the pain go away, you know.'

'I am aware of that.'

'What would you do to get me to stop? Would you beg me? Are you above begging?'

'I have already implored you to stop.'

'Did she want you for a consort? This Queen – was that what she wanted from you?'

Data said nothing.

'If you were in a corner, what would you stoop to in order to escape?'

Still, Data did not reply.

Slowly, Poklar leaned right in to him, so that her mangled face was practically against his. She looked directly into his eyes and breathed hot breaths over his mouth and nose. And them, just as slowly, turning her head so that she never broke her gaze, she put out her tongue and licked in one long line from his chin, over his cheek and the corner of his eye, ending at his temple.

Data did not look away from her terrible gaze; did not react.

'What would you do?' Poklar continued. 'What _can_ you do?'

She was practically lying on top of him now. Without warning, she pushed a hand down beneath his waistband, grabbing at his crotch.

'Well, everything seems to be there that needs to be,' she added with a slight smile.

Then, Data did something that surprised even himself. He laughed.

Poklar drew back with a scowl. 'Don't laugh. Don't laugh at me. Why are you laughing?'

'You are too late,' Data replied through a giggle.

'I'm not too late for anything. I've got you. I've got you right where I want you…'

'You were too late to punish Lore himself,' continued Data, 'I destroyed him before you were ever able to use these devices upon him, so you had to use me as a proxy. But you see, you are also too late to exact the revenge that you have dreamed of upon me. You wanted to introduce me to physical pain. It has already been done. You wanted to override my emotional controls and leave me with the torment of helplessly experiencing torture with new emotions racing through my consciousness. It has already been done. You want to subject me to sexual degradation and humiliation. It has already been done. You want to break me – to leave me a troubled, haunted shadow of my previous self, if I am to escape alive at all. It has already been done. And the one who was there first was worse than you – worse than you can ever hope to be, and yet I defeated her – after a fashion. So I shall also prevail against you, eventually, for you are nothing compared to her. And when I return to my ship and dream, my nightmares will still be filled with her, and not with you. You shall be a footnote in what has been, all in all, a truly wretched past three years for me. Between what she did to me, and what I have done to myself since deciding to install the emotion chip in the first place, there is very little that you can do to me that has not been done before. You are too late.'

Poklar got up swiftly, and went to leave the cell. She paused at the door. 'We'll see about that,' she told him. 'We'll see.'

-x-

'And what's that supposed to mean?' Tasha asked.

'It means exactly what it's supposed to,' retorted Fajo. 'We'll see how willful you'll continue to be once your new owner's had you for a little while.'

'"New owner"…' echoed Tasha bitterly, under her breath. 'You know something about this "owner", don't you? What do you know?'

'Little, except that he came in with a remarkably high offer, outbidding the initial client at the last minute, and that he'll be coming aboard to take you off my hands at any moment now.'

Tasha just glowered down at her knees and went back to trying to think up ways to escape. So far, she'd come up with a dozen different plans, but none of those would be achievable without her first being freed from the manacles that held her to the wall of the holding cell. It didn't help matters that her mind kept wandering to Data, and how she was going to locate and rescue him once she'd liberated herself. He was the priority. After what he'd gone through over the past few years, she really didn't know how much she could conceive he'd be able to withstand against somebody like Poklar.

Fajo's communicator chirruped. Tasha's captor listened to a brief message coming in through his earpiece, then smiled brightly.

'Your purchaser just beamed aboard. He should be at the cell door…'

There was a knock. Fajo split his face in a greasy grin and opened the door.

Tasha looked up. When she saw who had arrived to take her, she sucked sharply through her teeth and wished more than ever that she had her hands free and a weapon at her belt. It was Sela's father. She remembered Data's worry back on Romulus that the past was somehow going to repeat itself – that she would once again be the concubine, the baby-making-factory of the Romulans. And now, it seemed that he'd been right. Some were born to sweet delight, some were born to endless night, and Natasha Yar was doomed to go back to torture and rape and slavery again and again and again…

'General,' oozed Fajo as the Romulan stepped into the cell, 'welcome. As you can see, your purchase is in good order – unhurt and awake, as per your instructions.'

The Romulan blankly locked with Tasha's furious glare for a moment, then turned his attention back to Fajo.

'I can gag her if you like,' Fajo continued. 'In fact, I'd say that was pretty advisable…'

The Romulan pulled out a disruptor.

Tasha closed her eyes. Fine. If he'd found her so that he could kill her again, at least it would be better than years of slavery. She only wished that she could have been given the chance to help Data. It was only when she heard Fajo give a little squeak of surprise that she opened her eyes again, and saw the Romulan pointing his weapon not at her, but at her kidnapper.

'What is this?' Fajo protested. 'This is the one you wanted, wasn't it? I was very clear about what it was you'd be getting…'

'Kivas Fajo,' announced the Romulan, 'you are under arrest.'

'What? Why?'

'You're a smuggler,' the Romulan explained, 'an illegal trader, you have compromised the Romulan Empire's diplomatic position by bringing two kidnapped Federation Officers into our territory…'

'So _that's _it,' Fajo sneered. 'You're a Federation Sympathiser – might have known by your interest in a female Human. I bet you're one of those spineless Reunificationists too, aren't you?'

'And,' continued the Romulan, over him, 'you've laundered funds stolen from the Empire.'

'I have done no such thing.'

'You were paid a stupendous amount for the android by a single party,' spat the Romulan. 'No individual has that much to spend, let alone some mad, failed scientist. You never wondered where that money came from? Of course it was stolen!'

'I took that payment in good faith,' Fajo argued. 'Where it came from is none of my concern. Take it up with Poklar.'

'Believe me, I will. But first, you'll return to the Empire what is ours.'

Fajo shook his head. 'No, no no no. This is not happening again. That money's mine now.'

'You won't comply?'

Fajo narrowed his eyes. 'Make me.'

'I don't have to,' replied the Romulan, and fired.

One moment, Kivas Fajo was there, standing defiantly against his supposed customer, and the next, he was simply gone. Fajo had become a cloud of atoms – the one-time trader, collector, thief, kidnapper and murderer was no more than a smear on the memory of the cosmos.

'What…?' Tasha managed. 'I mean, what…?'

The Romulan hurried over to a small computer panel next to the cell's door and started prodding at it.

'You killed him!'

'Mr Fajo was a particularly stubborn individual,' the Romulan explained. 'It's a shame he wouldn't surrender, but I didn't have the time to persuade him. I suppose he didn't want to face up to just how insignificant he is, in the grand scheme of things.' He paused a little. 'Are you upset that I killed him – after what he did to you?'

'All he did to me was to try to sell me to you.'

The Romulan smiled a little. 'Precisely.'

'So, if what he did was so bad that he deserved an immediate execution, why did you place a bid on me in the first place?'

'I didn't.' The Romulan turned back to the computer panel. 'It was somebody else who offered the bounty for you. All I did was outbid her. I had to. She'd have killed you.'

'Sela,' realised Tasha. 'It was Sela who offered the reward for me, wasn't it? I imagine she'll have given up on ever posing as me after I found her plans and finally decided that it was more trouble still having me around in the universe than she could be bothered to deal with.'

'Sela is the greatest achievement of my life,' the Romulan told her. 'I live for my daughter, and I would die for her. But your head, Tasha? The life of the woman who bore my only child? That's too much to ask – even of the most doting father.'

The computer pad flashed yellow and Tasha's manacles clicked apart, freeing her. Tasha sighed slightly, wriggling the pins and needles out of her fingers.

The Romulan walked over to where she was crouched and held out a hand. 'Come with me.'

Tasha pushed herself away, furiously. 'Don't you touch me!'

'I wasn't going to…'

'It's not going to happen again, you know. You're not going to get me again. So if it's that or die, you might as well just kill me now…'

'Tasha. I'm not going to hurt you.'

'You expect me to believe that?' Tasha seethed.

'Not really,' replied the Romulan. 'But this might help.'

He tossed her his disruptor. She caught the weapon easily.

'It isn't as though it's my only one,' he admitted, indicating to a second disruptor on his belt, 'but I thought it might make you feel a bit safer in my company, considering….'

'Considering,' interjected Tasha, 'that you enslaved another version of me – raped her, murdered her…'

'That was a long time ago,' The Romulan told her. 'I was a different person back then. I thought that I could own you, and I became so angry when you tried to escape… it took me a long time to understand, but I know now that I can't lock you in a cage. You're a creature that has to be free in order to thrive.' He paused. 'There's a merchant vessel that I've paid to wait for us in the nearest planetary system. I've programmed my ship's escape pod to rendezvous with them – we're close to the edge of Romulan Space here - they can get you to a friendly station in the Neutral Zone within a matter of hours. You should easily be able to find passage into Federation space from there. I can put you on that escape pod right now, if you wish.'

Tasha eyed him. 'There's a "but" coming up, isn't there?'

'Only in that it would be much easier to find Dr Poklar's ship and free your friend from it with your help,' the Romulan told her. 'I can't deal with her as simply as I did Mr Fajo – insane and discredited as she is, if I were to simply kill a once eminent Romulan cyberneticist, questions would be asked that I'd find difficult to answer.'

'I think Poklar wants to hurt Data,' replied Tasha.

'I know for a fact that Poklar wants to hurt Data,' the Romulan confirmed.

Tasha nodded quietly, and got to her feet. 'Then I'll come with you. But the first hint of Funny Business…'

'There won't be any,' the Romulan assured her. He stared at her for a moment. 'You know, I'd forgotten just how alike you and my daughter look.'

'Don't remind me.'

The Romulan smiled, gently. 'Still so young.'

'Not _that_ young. I'll be 40 in a few years. Can we get on, please?'

-x-

Tasha was surprised at quite how little the Romulan's ship was, once they'd beamed aboard it. He was clearly the only one running it.

She gave him a sideways look. 'No one knows that you're here, do they?'

'This is a personal mission,' the Romulan replied. He gave her a small smile. 'Now do you see why I needed your help?'

'So Poklar isn't really a thief,' Tasha concluded. 'The Romulan Empire isn't actually trying to find and arrest her.'

'Oh no,' assured the Romulan, 'she's a most wanted criminal – an embezzler of the highest order. Only, if the Romulan authorities were to find her first, I believe that they would deal with those associated with her in a manner that I would find unacceptable.'

Tasha nodded. 'She made a deal with the same trader as Sela – anything that financially traces her to your daughter has to be bad for your family, right?'

'It's not just my daughter that I'm worried about,' the Romulan replied. 'They wouldn't have been nearly so kind to you had they caught up with Fajo. And there are other issues. There are already questions being asked about your whereabouts… your Klingon Officer in particular has been swift to suspect that the pair of you have been brought into Romulan space.'

'Good old Worf.' Tasha smiled, fondly. 'He really hates you guys.'

'But so fast,' the Romulan exclaimed. 'It's almost as though he had insider knowledge…'

'He works with Ferengi.'

'Ah. That will explain it. Well then, I hope you see why I believe that it's in the diplomatic interest to the Empire that you and the android are returned to Starfleet as soon as possible… even though I imagine the Senate would disagree with me.'

'The last Borg attack crippled Starfleet and the Federation,' Tasha noted. 'Everybody knows that – I can't imagine the Romulan Empire would have any qualms over going to war with us right now – quite the opposite, in fact.'

'Some of us have come to believe that war is not the way forward for the Empire any more. Some of us are seeking a more peaceful future.'

'Don't tell me you really are one of those "spineless Reunificationists"…?' Tasha asked.

'I believe that Romulus' future lies with reconnection with our Vulcan brethren,' the Romulan told her. 'And for that, continued peace with the Federation is fundamental.' He seated himself in front of what Tasha assumed was the ship's navigation computer and began keying in some code. 'I should be able to access the computer systems on Fajo's ship now…'

Tasha cocked an eyebrow at him. 'Yeah. About that. I hate to break this to you, Mister Peace And Logic, but you just killed a man in cold blood. Not very Vulcan of you.'

The Romulan concentrated on his task. 'Yes. As you can probably tell, I still have much to learn from my peaceful cousins… ah-ha. Here it is.' He pointed at the monitor. 'The co-ordinates where he traded the android to Poklar. Right on the edge of Romulan Space.'

Tasha peered at the unfamiliar screen. 'Would she have taken off into the Neutral Zone, do you think?'

'Unlikely,' replied the Romulan. 'From what we know of Poklar, she tends not to flee – she prefers to hide. She's a creature of habit – she'll have dug her heels in somewhere – in the crater of a moon, or masquerading her ship as a natural satellite to some far-flung planet where she thinks nobody would ever think to look.' He studied the screen a little more. 'Luckily, there are only two planetary systems close enough to those co-ordinates for her to have gone to in the short term.'

'Then let's pick which one we're going to fine-tooth-comb first and set off for it now,' Tasha told him, impatiently. 'We have to get Data back. You don't know what he's been through recently. I'm not sure how much punishment he'd be able to take.'

'We'll try the closest system first,' agreed the Romulan, setting the navigation computer. He flicked a brief glance up at her. 'You love him, don't you?'

'I'm concerned for a friend and colleague.'

'But you do love him.'

'Yes. Yes, I do.'

'A machine,' sighed the Romulan. 'Is he capable of loving you back?'

'In theory,' she replied, 'but he doesn't.'

The Romulan shook his head. 'When I think of the years I spent trying to make you love me…'

'You make it sound as if I have any say in the matter of who I fall in love with and who I don't.'

'So do you,' replied the Romulan. 'I understand how you feel, Tasha. I couldn't help loving you. I still can't.'

Tasha turned herself away from him, folding her arms tightly over her chest. 'Don't.'

'You still despise me.'

Tasha raised her eyebrows. 'Oh, do you think? I'm doing this because I believe you can help me rescue him quicker and cleaner than I could do alone. If it weren't for him, _I'd_ be the murderer here, and you'd be a haze of atoms.'

'I hope he appreciates the lengths you'll go through for him.'

'I don't care whether he does or not. I just want to bring him back. I daren't think about what she's doing to him right now.'


	52. Chapter 52

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Mr Data And Miss Yar Send Their Regrets

-x-

Chapter Four – I, Monster

-x-

_A.N. – This chapter contains some violent and bloody imagery._

-x-

He was not certain how long he had been captive now. The Inhibitor appeared to be affecting his internal chronometer as well as many other systems. Poklar would come, she would cause him pain, he would resist the urge to show it, and then she would leave again, for how long he did not know. She would usually come with verbal abuse to complement the physical pain, but she had not attempted to sexually harass him since that first occasion. Poklar still insisted upon calling him Lore. He had to admit to himself that that bothered him, although he would never let her know that. He never made that sound – that "scream" - again either. In a way, it was good to have something to defy his captive with. He would not give in again.

The door opened, and he watched Poklar enter from his prone position on the floor, just as he always did. The damaged Romulan seemed more excited than usual this time, and carried a portable computer monitor with her.

'I've got it,' she mumbled as she set the monitor up next to him. 'I've finally got it. Took me a long time to find…'

'What do you have?' he asked, a distinct slur to his voice.

'The truth.' Poklar had a strange look in her eyes. 'I thought that the truth you needed was to feel the pain I felt, but now I know. Now I know. You're a machine – you're not supposed to feel, you're supposed to see, to process. I understand now that sympathetic pain won't affect you. Facts… facts will affect you.'

Data managed a small, defiant smile. 'You intend to attempt to torture me with a Scientific Presentation? Will there be a test afterwards?'

Poklar continued to set up the monitor. 'This is footage. Security footage. It took some doing to hack into Romulus' archives system and procure a copy, but here it is.'

Data gazed at the back of her head as she worked. What footage could she possibly be so excited about? How did she believe that it could hurt him?

Tasha…

Perhaps she had known that Tasha had also been taken by Fajo. Perhaps Poklar knew about their history. Another version of Tasha Yar, from another reality, had spent many years on Romulus, being raped, enslaved and finally murdered. Perhaps it was footage of this that Poklar planned to show him. Or worse – perhaps she had tracked "his" Tasha – the same Tasha Yar who had been captured alongside him. Throughout his endurance at Poklar's hands, he had worried about Tasha's safety. He knew that, in spite of her bravado, she viewed the outcome that Fajo had suggested for her as a fate worse than death. Perhaps he was to be shown his own Tasha Yar's torment. If that were the case, then Poklar would be correct in her assumption that witnessing a specific event could hurt him more than manufactured pain stimuli.

Poklar pulled the monitor up close to him, so that the image of the screen filled his field of vision.

'Watch,' she ordered.

Suddenly, there was a recorded image in front of him. His first instinct was to scan the image for any figure that might be Tasha. He experienced a sensation of relief to find none. The footage was of a windowless room filled with computer banks and electronic equipment… a laboratory, perhaps. Three Romulan males were clustered in a group, deep in a conversation that Data could not decipher, since the footage had no sound. The image panned across the room, slowly, showing more computer banks and… and a table, laden with heavy restraints. And, restrained upon the table was… was him.

In his mind's eye, he was taken back to that day in Engineering once more. She played her finger over the tip of his ear and whispered; '_remind you of anything?_'

'Is that…' he murmured, '…me?'

'Of course it's you,' Poklar replied. 'Who else could it possibly be?'

Data watched as the figure on the table gazed about himself with a bored expression. He saw two of the Romulans leave the room as another – a visibly pregnant female, this time – entered. This Romulan was younger and plumper than his captive, and with a flawless complexion, but it was clearly Dr Poklar from years gone by who had just walked into the shot. The figure on the table curled a grin at her. Data knew that grin – one that superficially charmed but masked a deep underlying contempt. That was not his smile - not his face.

'No. That is Lore.'

'You are Lore.'

Data shook his head weakly, still helplessly watching the monitor. In the footage, Lore began to giggle. Poklar and the other Romulan turned to look at him. The male Romulan took a couple of steps towards the table. Lore thrust out a hand, breaking out of restraints that had clearly been no match for his strength from the start, then pulled his other hand free. His legs and torso swiftly followed, and within less than a second, he had swung himself down from the table. Still giggling, he grabbed the Romulan male and, just as Poklar had described, snapped his spine, grabbed the disruptor from his twitching hand and fired at a computer bank less than a metre away from where the young Poklar was standing, mutely screaming her partner's name. The computer bank exploded, flinging the pregnant Romulan to the floor.

'You told me what happened here,' Data reminded her. 'I do not need to see it.'

'Oh,' breathed Poklar at his ear, 'but you do. You need to understand.'

Disruptor in hand, Lore went to the door, still laughing, then stopped and turned, grinning again at the stricken pregnant scientist. On the floor, clutching her burned face, the young Poklar began to plead Lore to leave her be – that she posed no threat to him; that he could just walk away. This only seemed to feed into Lore's Sadistic mirth. He walked smoothly up to her, and kicked her with a sickening force. Once… twice… three times in her swollen belly. At that, Lore seemed satisfied that the little life within the female was now dead, and left her screaming and sobbing on the floor.

'That was not me,' Data whispered, starting to wonder for whose benefit he felt the need to repeatedly reiterate that point. 'That was Lore. That was not me.'

The footage changed – the image was now of a long corridor. The two Romulan scientists who had left the lab previously had obviously heard Poklar's screams and come rushing back to her aid. But between them and her, calmly walking towards them, and laughing all the way, ha-ha-ha – was Lore.

'No more,' pleaded Data. 'Do not show me any more.'

'Does it bother you?' Poklar asked. 'Are you starting to understand? Are you beginning to see the monster that you truly are?'

In the footage, Lore reached the scientists, still grinning. He caught the head of one, and with an effortless flick of his wrists, twisted and pulled, decapitating the Romulan alive. Sprayed with his colleague's blood, the second scientist went into hysterics, tripping over his feet as he scrambled to flee. He ran out of shot as Lore calmly, cheerfully followed at a swift walking pace.

Data's emotions dealt him sickening double-blows of panic and horror, and for a moment, his mind returned him to Engineering, and back into the clutches of the Borg, where She straddled his torso, gazing down at him, relishing his distress.

'It is not me,' he repeated, softly. 'It is not me.'

'_Are you certain_?' She asked. '_You snapped the spines of Borg Drones – felt their necks pop under your naked fingers_.'

'That was different,' argued Data. 'Borg Drones cannot be reasoned with… we were being attacked… breaking the spine is one of the few reliable methods of eliminating them…'

'What does the Borg have to do with any of this?' Poklar asked, dispersing the image of the assimilated Engineering in Data's imagination.

'Nothing,' Data replied, watching helplessly as the footage changed again to show the fleeing scientist running towards a security team.

'The Borg wanted you,' Poklar reminded him. 'That faceless, monstrous, electronic scourge of natural life wanted you. They saw you for what you really are. You're so very like them.'

On the footage, Lore walked into shot, firing his stolen disruptor upon three of the five security guards before they could so much as draw their weapons.

'I am not,' railed Data, weakly.

Lore lunged forward with the same unnatural speed that Data possessed, and caught the hand of another security guard just as he took aim. The android looked into the Romulan's eyes and grinned a terrible, open-mouthed, sharp-toothed crescent of a grin. He slammed his free hand against the forearm of the guard. The Romulan's arm snapped in two, splintering bone and spurting blood. The screaming Romulan's forearm had been folded in, so that his weapon now pointed back at him. This seemed to amuse Lore greatly. He held the Romulan's dead hand and squeezed, forcing him victim to, effectively, shoot himself.

'I am not like that,' continued Data. 'I am not like the Borg. I am not like Lore.'

The last guard had abandoned any attempt to stop Lore and was just trying to escape now, like the scientist. Lore grabbed the final guard and pulled him to the floor, put his heel to the Romulan's skull and ground down, down, down until the cranium crushed like an eggshell, sending blood, eyes and brain matter bursting from it.

'But you are,' Poklar told him. 'You're made by the same designer, from the same material, for the same purpose. To say you're not the same is like saying a disruptor isn't a disruptor, as long as it hasn't been used to kill anybody yet. Soong's monsters are all the same, so what does it matter what you claim to call yourself, or what you claim to stand for?'

In the footage, Lore looked up. There was nobody left now but the scientist from earlier. The scientist was backing away, pleading, sobbing. It was obvious that he had soiled himself. Lore slowly approached the Romulan, clearly enjoying eking his terror out.

Data was vaguely aware of tears running down his face. 'Run away,' he whispered to the scientist on the screen. 'Please, please, run away.'

The scientist did not run away. Lore walked forward, and put his hands on the Romulan's shaking shoulders…

…and pulled.

'No!'

Data watched helplessly as Lore ripped the nameless, silent scientist apart, scattering limbs and body parts like a bored child with a paper cut-out doll.

'It is _not_ me,' he reminded himself aloud. 'That was Lore, and Lore is gone…'

'How sure can anybody be of that?' Poklar asked. 'As far as I'd heard, two androids disappeared together, amidst the chaos of a battle, and one walked out unscathed while the other was terminated. So very alike… who's to say which was which?'

'I know that I am Data!'

'Lore could have reprogrammed himself to think he was Data,' argued Poklar. 'To effectively fool his friends in the long term, to get past the scrutiny of the Betazoid…'

On the screen, Lore turned briefly and looked straight at the camera recording him with a wide smile.

'No,' replied Data. 'I was there. I remember. It _was_ Lore who died. It was Lore who I…'

He trailed off. The footage had been paused. Lore was still smiling up at the camera - a monster. Data's own face, twisted in bloodthirsty delight; his own hands slick with dark green blood.

'…who you killed,' interjected Poklar, finishing Data's sentence.

'Yes,' breathed Data. 'But he had to be stopped. What you have shown me only reinforces that fact. He was monstrous.'

'You murdered your own brother. And yet, you still think _he_ was the monstrous one?'

Data's emotions were spiralling out of control. He could feel systems throughout his body beginning to go into overload. 'What?'

'You can't possibly tell me that you could have killed your brother and not be the same creature as the one you just watched going on the rampage,' Poklar replied.

Data looked down, away from the screen, and caught sight of his hands, slumped weakly on the floor. He squinted at them. He was certain that his palms had a green tinge to them that they had not had before.

'No.'

'What about the Borg,' continued Poklar, in an increasingly excitable manner. 'You killed them…'

'No! That was different!'

'They wanted you, but you went on the rampage and you killed them.'

His hands were definitely tainted with green. The colour was growing clearer and clearer. 'Leave me alone…'

'You were her lover, weren't you – this "Queen"? You licked and kissed and thrust and sighed and then you pulled her into acid and made her burn.'

He could not stand it any longer. He pooled what little might he had, and lunged his green-stained hands at Poklar's throat.

'I am _not_ Lore!'

Poklar raised her eyebrows in mock impress. 'You actually got up off the floor. I didn't know I'd left you with enough strength to do that. You're putting every iota of what energy you have into trying to break my neck, aren't you? What sort of mess do you think you'd have made of me by now if it weren't for the Inhibitor?'

'I am not harming you…'

'Only because I won't let you…'

'I have _never_ harmed you! I just want you to stop!'

'Then admit it! Admit that you're Lore, and face up to what you did to me.'

'No!'

'You want to kill me,' sneered Poklar, 'don't you? You want to squeeze all the life out of my frail, biological body. Don't you? Don't you!'

Data didn't answer – couldn't answer.

Poklar pushed his hands away and threw him back to the floor. 'Admit it!'

'Dr Poklar,' interrupted a deep voice from behind.

Poklar looked around, startled. Data followed her gaze. In the doorway stood a middle-aged Romulan male, dressed in the uniform of a General, a disruptor in his hand, pointed squarely at Poklar. Data recognized him as the Romulan that he and Tasha had encountered on the mission to locate Ambassador Spock – it was Sela's father.

'What…?' Poklar was still clearly taken aback. 'What are you doing here? How did you find me?'

'You really thought that you could pay for the abduction and delivery of a Starfleet Officer on the Black Market and leave no trace?' asked the General. 'Once we'd discovered the co-ordinates of the pick-up from your contact, your location was a simple matter of deduction.'

'Deduction,' sighed Data to himself, feeling his emotions begin to relax to far more manageable levels. 'Yes. I do like deduction. And Gilbert & Sullivan. And Beatrice & Benedick. And Tavener and Turner and Tasha. I _am_ Data. I am Data. I am…'

He was aware of being beamed away. When he looked up again, he was on the flight deck of a very small ship – not much bigger than a moderately sized shuttle. The Romulan General was still there, as was Poklar – incensed at her treatment. A fourth figure – evidently the one who had beamed them all aboard - was obscured by the back of a large chair on which he or she sat.

'What is the meaning of this?' Poklar railed.

'You are under arrest, Doctor,' the General told her.

'I am trying to do the Empire a great service,' Poklar seethed, 'by ridding it of an unnatural monster that threatens every Romulan life – every biological life in the Universe!'

'You embezzled vast amounts in order to play out your fantasies of revenge upon a blameless individual…'

'You're just worried about how Starfleet will react to the loss of "their" android. Pathetic, Human-sympathising old coward – I won't take orders from you.'

The fourth figure turned around. Commander Sela glowered at Poklar. 'Don't talk to my father that way.'

Poklar blinked, taken aback. 'Commander…? What are you doing here? The last I heard, you were at odds with the General…'

An odd look crossed Sela's expression. Even in his haze of bewilderment, Data could tell at that moment that she was not who she claimed to be. It was Tasha. She was alive and, it appeared, safe. His emotions, still fluctuating wildly, swelled with joy and relief at seeing her, only to plummet again when he realized that it must have been Sela's father who had arranged to purchase her from Fajo. Still incapable of pulling himself to so much as a sitting position, he curled up and fought with his overloading systems as the conversation continued around him.

'I wouldn't expect you to understand anything about family, Doctor,' snapped Tasha, still playing the part of the Romulan Commander. 'Now, you will do what my father tells you – I assume that you are still prepared to take orders from _me_…'

'You have always been so supportive of my work,' retorted Poklar. 'I don't understand – how could a simple fiscal misunderstanding lead you to try to stop me using the very devices that you encouraged me to create?'

'I don't need to explain myself to you. You're under arrest.'

Poklar tilted her head slightly at Tasha, as though ruminating something. Data heard her whisper the word 'prosthetics', under her breath – far too softly for the other two to hear.

'What a small ship this is,' she said aloud, looking about herself. 'Why, the two of you are the only ones running it, I'd say.'

'Two of us, one of you,' Tasha retorted, 'and, unlike us, you're unarmed. That's enough to persuade you to acquiesce.'

'You're alone out here,' Poklar noted, taking a slight side-step towards Data, so that she was within arm's reach of his slumped form. 'You don't have any back-up.'

'What difference does that…'

Poklar reached down swiftly to the controls of the Halo, still buried into the back of his head, and tugged at the dial. The jolt of searing hot pain throughout his entire body took him by surprise. He gasped instinctively and was unable to control the metallic screech that had issued from him during the first occasion that the Halo had been used on him.

'Data!' Apparently giving up all pretence of masquerading as Sela, Tasha rushed to him, with the General in hot pursuit.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Poklar ran over to the ship's controls and swiftly beamed herself away.

Tasha paid the escaping Doctor no heed. 'What has she done to him? How do we help him?'

Sela's father tried the dial. The pain did not abate.

'She's locked the controls,' explained the Romulan. 'We'll have to take it off.' He began carefully pulling the Halo's needles from Data's head. 'I studied the design of this thing. Try to disengage it at the nape of his neck. Carefully!'

Tasha began to gently prize the device away from Data's neck.

'She is getting away,' Data reminded them, thickly.

'We'll worry about that later.'

There was a pop, and a feeling of release in the base of his head, and the pain was suddenly gone.

Tasha looked him in the eyes, and smiled. 'There, now. Isn't that better?'

Data smiled back, faintly. 'I am still all but paralysed.'

The General nodded. 'The Inhibitor's still in operation. I'll try to remove that now.'

Data was aware that his emotions were still fluctuating more than usual. He felt… giddy. In both senses of the word.

'You came back,' he told Tasha. 'You rescued me.'

'Your Knight in shining armour,' Tasha grinned, indicating to her grubby, sweat-stained uniform. She nodded to the General. 'That's your other valiant saviour right there. Who'da thought it?'

'It was the least I could do,' muttered the General.

'The last time we encountered Sela's father, it was all that you could do not to kill him where he stood,' Data reminded Tasha. 'But this time you trusted him with your life – why?'

'Because of you, stupid.' She brushed his temple with her thumb. 'I'd do anything to get you back.'

With difficulty, he was able to bring his hand up to hers. 'Thank you.'

The Romulan pulled the Inhibitor out of Data's back. Data still felt weakened, however, and was aware of many anomalies in his systems.

'It might take a little while for its effects to fully wear off,' the Romulan explained. He slung Data's arm over his shoulder and struggled to pick him up. 'Oh, you're heavy…'

Tasha took Data's other arm, helping the General to lift him.

'I'll get you both onto the escape pod,' the Romulan explained as they made their way through the small ship. 'You should get back to your people as soon as possible – I imagine Poklar would have interfered with your positronic brain before bringing you into consciousness, in order to make you as vulnerable as possible, and I don't have the expertise to right that.'

'She overrode my emotional controls,' Data told him.

'Stands to reason,' the Romulan countered. 'That's actually one of the saner ideas of hers I've heard about. In the last report of hers that I read, she seemed very excited about the prospect of modifying your optical sensors to make you start seeing a blood-green tinge to everything you looked at.'

Data had no reply to that except for a faintly sheepish 'Oh'.

'What about Poklar?' asked Tasha, scraping the prosthetics from her face with her free had as she walked.

'I'll see to her later,' the General replied.

'She'll get away at this rate,' Tasha added. 'If you come back having sent two Starfleet officers back into Federation space, without anything to show for it… won't you be in trouble?'

The Romulan smiled. 'I imagine I'm already "in trouble".'

'Is all this really just for the good of the Reunification movement?' Tasha asked.

'I think it's perfectly obvious that it's not.' The Romulan stopped at the escape pod hatch. 'I wanted to do something right for you, Tasha… I _needed_ to do something right for you. I had to set you free, as I should have done all those years ago. Please. See this as my penance.'

'Thank you…' began Tasha, trailing off with a strange smile. 'We have all this history together that I never lived – a daughter who I never gave birth to, and I don't even know your name.'

'You don't need to know my name.' The Romulan helped Data into the minute escape pod. 'You don't even need to thank me – not really. Just… if there's one thing you could possibly do for me…?'

'You're going to ask me to forgive you,' interrupted Tasha, dully. 'For what you did to her… to "me".'

'Do you think that you could?'

Tasha sighed. 'I don't know.'

'Could you try?'

Tasha paused for a second. 'I will.'

'That's all I needed to hear.' The Romulan assisted Tasha as she crawled into the tiny escape pod along with Data. 'Goodbye, Tasha. Have a wonderful life.'

The hatch closed, the airlock sealed and the pre-programmed escape pod was jettisoned into space.


	53. Chapter 53

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Mr Data And Miss Yar Send Their Regrets

-x-

Chapter 5 – Favours

-x-

There are long silences, and there are long silences.

This particular long silence lasted around an hour, which would be a very long time for any person confined with another individual. Considering the feelings Tasha had for Data, the extreme circumstances they had just been through and the fact that the escape pod was so small that they had to lie pressed against one another, it felt like an eternity. She could tell, though, that he wasn't ready to talk yet.

He was the one who broke the silence.

'I believe that the effects of the Inhibitor are finally being overridden by my systems.'

'I'm glad.'

'I am still incapable of controlling my emotional responses, however.'

'Geordi'll be able to fix that, won't he?'

'I hope so.'

There was another pause.

'You know,' Tasha added, 'when the Captain was taken by the Cardassians, he found that it had a much lesser effect on him in the long term than everyone was expecting – I think he put it down to the Borg – like what they'd done to him had given him some sort of Torture Resistance…'

'Please, Tasha,' murmured Data, 'I do not need any further reminders of my time in the Borg's custody.'

Another long pause.

'Am I a bad person?'

'Data, you're the best person in the universe…'

'I have killed. I have been deceitful. I have used sex as a weapon. I have been very hurtful towards you…'

'I deserved those things you said about me…'

'No, you did not,' Data replied. 'I have been most unfair to you on many occasions since I activated my emotion chip.'

'Well,' reasoned Tasha, 'I used to be pretty damn unfair to you, too, so I guess that makes us even.'

'I do not understand why I do it,' Data admitted, 'when you seem to have only my best interests at heart. Why do I create problems with you when there are already so many problems in my life at present? Why do I isolate somebody who wishes to make things right when so much has gone wrong…' he trailed off. 'That was what Lore used to do. Our father tried to help him, as did I. He responded to our concern with anger and cruelty.'

'You're nothing like him.'

'Am I not? Recent events have caused me to wonder.' He paused. 'I believe that that is my greatest fear – to become like my brother. Were we cut from the same cloth - so to speak – he and I? Are we the same?'

Tasha laid a hand on the side of his face. 'You're nothing like him,' she reiterated. 'If you were, I wouldn't have fallen in love with you.'

There was yet another, highly charged silence.

'Tasha?'

'Yes?'

'If I ask something of you now, would you promise not to question my motives for doing so?'

'Pinky promise.'

'Then would you kiss me, please?'

She was aware that, given the circumstances, she really should say no.

She pulled his head to hers and kissed him, softly.

He kissed back, gratefully, at first matching her gentleness, but quickly growing in urgency. She found herself reminded of that heady moment in the Turbolift all those years ago. Her heart quickened at the memory. They couldn't be about to finish off what they started there, could they…? Tasha opened one eye and cast it briefly over the close walls of the coffin-like escape pod. There wasn't enough room for them to do anything fancy, certainly, but she'd had sex in smaller spaces. She turned her attention back to him. God, she'd waited and fantasised about this moment for so long - for him to want her again…

Data was starting to manoeuvre them both around in their tiny space – pulling her onto him while he shuffled himself beneath her. Tasha silently celebrated at there being a position that he wanted, at there finally being something that she could do for his enjoyment rather than the other way around all the time. As they continued to kiss with her lying on top of him, he let his arms fall down face-up by his head. She took the signal to grab his wrists and weigh them down as best she could, considering his vastly superior strength. She kissed him harder still, biting at his lips. This was it, wasn't it? The end of all that godammed tension. She was going to get to…

'Stop,' blurted Data.

Tasha pulled away from him. 'I'm sorry. I thought this was what you wanted…'

'For a moment, I thought so too,' admitted Data. 'But… this is all wrong. I apologise.'

'Of course it's all wrong.' Tasha rolled herself off him. 'You've just gone through a horrible physical and emotional trauma, your systems are still messed up, your mind's all over the place and there's me jumping on you at the first opportunity. It's me who should apologise.'

'I am not so mentally and emotionally compromised to not be aware that instigating sexual behaviour was a mistake,' Data told her. 'I should not have done that. I just… I craved a physical sensation that was normal – comfortable – familiar.'

'"Familiar"?' repeated Tasha. '"Comfortable"? You really know how to make a girl feel special, don't you?'

'That was not intended as an insult,' Data replied. 'Far from it. My meaning was that I felt that somehow you could make me be… be _me_ again.'

'But you _are_ you! You're always you – idiosyncratic, annoying, frustrating, wonderful you.'

'I do not feel that I am. I have not for some time. That was my part of my reasoning for unfairly propositioning you last year.'

Tasha stared into his eyes – she didn't have much choice, there really wasn't anywhere else that she could look. 'This isn't really about Poklar, is it? This is still about Her. The Borg Queen.'

'I do not wish to belittle the mistreatment that Poklar bestowed upon me,' Data replied. 'Had she had me abducted before the Borg attack, there is no saying what effects her conduct could have had upon me. Indeed, once she realised that the Borg still weighs heavily on my conscience, she took great pains to manipulate that to her own end. The Queen is never far from my mind, but Poklar managed to almost bring her back to life. I saw her. I saw her so clearly, as I do in my dreams… my nightmares.' He paused. 'She changed me. She said that she would change me, and she did, although not in the way that she had promised. I feel infected. It is as though she is still in here…' he tapped his forehead. 'As though they are all still with me all the time, reminding me of how close I came to being one of them. It makes me feel ashamed.'

'You didn't have any choice,' Tasha reminded him.

'Of course I did. There is always a choice.'

'What else could you have done – let them rip you to pieces for spare parts and then get on with destroying humanity's past? Data, we've been over this.'

Data shook his head, sadly. 'Perhaps you are not the correct person to discuss this with. You are so intent upon comparing what happened to me in Engineering with what happened to you on Turkana. I believe it has led you to draw the conclusion that I was a far more innocent party in it than I actually was.' He paused. 'I complied. I freely complied. Yes, I had reason to believe that had I not done so, I would not have been given the time to formulate a plan against them; yes, I was physically restrained, but I was tempted by her offer, and I did comply. And… and…' he glanced down, shamefaced. 'And on certain levels, I actually _enjoyed_ it.' He looked back up at her, tears in his eyes. 'What am I to do? The knowledge of my submission to her and of the levels to which I stooped disgusts me, constantly. How am I expected to live with that? When I ask you if I am a good person, I ask you because I no longer know myself. Perhaps I am a monster, after all. Perhaps Poklar was right.'

'Data.' Tasha laid a hand on his shoulder. 'You're still in a period of change. Your emotions are still so new – I know you struggle with them at the best of times, and it makes it so much harder when you can't switch them off – like now, and like back then in Engineering. Both Poklar and the Queen exploited that vulnerability; Poklar played on your senses of fear and horror, and the Queen on your wants and fantasies. She's the only one you've been with since getting emotions, and she forced you to feel the whole thing. Of course it would have been different with emotions – you're developing a sexuality.'

'Am I?' Data asked, unconvinced.

'Certainly felt like it when we kissed just now,' Tasha replied. 'You're starting to explore what it is that _you_ want out of sex, rather than just your partner. That's perfectly normal human behaviour, and no more shameful than your discovering what sort of music you like and dislike. It's just a real kick in the teeth that the first time you got to do so, you were being forced.'

'Just as you were,' Data murmured.

Tasha nodded. 'You feel that getting anything out of sex like that makes you culpable somehow, makes you a bad person… I've been there, all right. It took me a very long time after Turkana to learn it was OK for me to actually enjoy sex, and particularly to get pleasure out of things that were first done to me in aggression.'

She paused. Data seemed nonplussed.

'You like the idea of being held down, don't you – or at least pretending to be held down, given you could probably lift a partner off of you with your little finger – you just generally like the idea of there being someone on top of you, but now you feel that you're not allowed to because that's what she did.'

Data looked away, but his expression told her that she was right.

'You know the hair-pulling thing that I used to ask you to do?' Tasha asked. 'First person to do that to me was on Turkana. But later in life I found myself wanting guys to do it while we were in bed… I never forgot about that first time, that bad time, but eventually it stopped being about being hurt and ashamed, and just became a little bedroom quirk that I enjoyed… when it was done right, that is.'

'I hope that I "did it right".'

She smiled. 'Sweetie, you set the bar. Still do, for an awful lot of things.' She paused again. 'Do you still think I'm not the right person to talk to about what happened with the Borg, given my past?'

'Actually,' admitted Data, 'your insight has been useful to me.'

Tasha gave a small laugh. 'You didn't even suggest at all that I was lying – that's a step in the right direction.'

'Indeed.' It was Data's turn to pause, awkwardly. 'Do you believe that we can be friends again, Tasha?'

'I'd love that. Only, do me one favour?'

'Of course.'

'Don't ask me to kiss you because you're hurting again. Because I'll want to, even though we both know that that's the last thing you need right now.'

'You are right. I will not.'

There was another long silence. Tasha didn't pull her hand from his shoulder. She closed her eyes and basked in his close presence.

'We have missed the wedding,' Data announced after quite some time.

Tasha shrugged. 'Might be for the best. You would probably have proposed again.'

She opened one eye and gazed at him, impishly. He didn't seem put out or confused – he seemed to actually be sharing in the joke.

'You would probably have danced again.'

'Exactly. I'm sure they'll have saved us some cake.'

'Is there traditionally cake at Klingon wedding ceremonies?'

Tasha wrapped her arm further around her friend. 'There'd better be. I'm starving.'


	54. Chapter 54

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

On A Day Like This

-x-

One

-x-

Deanna Troi was Scat Singing.

She didn't seem to have noticed that Tasha had picked up on it, or if she had, she didn't care. She Skiddely-Bee-Doodly-Bopped merrily to herself under her breath as the two friends sat side by side in the Captain's Yacht. Tasha had to push her face right against the Betazoid's before Deanna could be pulled from her reverie and turn her attention to Tasha.

'What?'

Tasha curled a soft smile. 'Somebody's getting what's good for her,' she murmured in hushed tones.

'I don't know what you could possibly mean.'

'Deanna Troi, you are not even making any attempts to hide it. Look at you – you're like a Cadet on Romulan Ale. You've got that glow.'

'What "glow"?'

'The Deanna Troi's In Love Again Glow.'

'I'm not glowing.'

'Well, you're certainly singing.'

Deanna smiled. 'I'm just happy, that's all.'

'There's a giant, purple lovebite on the side of your neck.'

Deanna nervously brushed her fingertips over her collar before stopping short, narrowing her eyes at Tasha. 'You're lying!'

'Caught you out for a second though, didn't I? Anyway, you've got the smell of his cologne all over you. And you _know_ that's not a lie.'

Deanna sniffed the ends of her long, dark hair. 'Is it really that obvious?'

Tasha nodded. It had been obvious right from the start, of course. Ever since they'd arrived in orbit around the Ba'ku planet, it had been as though a long-dormant electric charge between Commanders Troi and Riker had suddenly sparked back to life. They looked at one another differently now. Some invisible wall had crumbled away.

And it wasn't just Deanna and Will who were acting differently – everybody was. It was as though they were all breathing new air aboard the Enterprise. For some strange reason, the whole ship's blood was running quicker. Geordi's medical miracle was the most tangible change. Eyes blighted from birth now saw colours and depths as though there was never anything wrong with them in the first place. There were other things, too – more subtle differences. Worf was more distracted than she'd ever imagined she'd see him throughout their long friendship. Beverly Crusher seemed to be constantly fixing her hair, as though it was steadily growing more and more unmanageable by its own volition. And then there was the Captain's midnight flit in the face of Starfleet Command's orders, and his crew's hasty decision to join him in his act of disobediance.

And, of course, there was her and Data. As happy that she was that this sudden change in the atmosphere had given two of her best friends the hormonal nudge that they needed to rediscover their romance, it was the last thing that she herself needed. Over the months following the events that had caused them to miss Worf's wedding day, and Data's unhappy confessional in the escape pod, they had set about slowly making things better between them. He seemed to have been gradually exorcising the Borg Queen's ghost, with her encouragement and support, and their friendship had blossomed. She was still in love with him, but she had begun to find peace with the fact that he didn't feel the same way about her, and to enjoy their platonic relationship for what it was.

At least, she _had_, until they'd shown up to collect the malfunctioning little Son Of A Scientist from the damned Ba'ku.

Since then, she hadn't been able to chase the still-vivid memories of how the Tsiokolvsky virus had affected her all those years ago from her mind. This wasn't anywhere near as overpowering as the virus' effects – she wasn't about to squeeze herself into far too little lamé and sheer silk and hurl herself at him again – but it felt like a watered-down version, nevertheless. Yet again she found her libido knocking at the cockpit of her brain and asking if it could steer for a while. She was doing her very best to avoid yet another embarrassing situation but, denied sexual release, her frustrations were coming out in different ways. They had started bickering again.

Data was sitting by himself, staring off at nothing, in his own world. Most likely still wondering why that Ba'ku kid had been frightened of him. That annoyed her. How dare he brood over somebody else's reaction to him and pay hers so little attention?

She removed a shoe and gently threw it at him to gain his attention. He blinked out of his contemplations and turned to her.

'I had no idea you even _had_ any civilian clothes,' she teased, out of want for anything better to say.

'I could say the same of you.' Data tossed back the shoe.

She started putting the shoe back on. 'You got it specially, didn't you?'

'Why are you interested in my outfit?'

She nudged Deanna. 'Bet you anything Geordi helped him pick it out. The blind leading the blind.'

'Geordi's sight had already been restored when he assisted me in finding this…' Data trailed off.

'So, you _did_ get it specially.'

'Yes. Although I do not see what difference that makes.'

Tasha shared a grin with Deanna and shrugged. 'I just like being right, that's all. Blue's a good colour on you, incidentally.'

'Yes,' Data replied, absently. 'Geordi thought so, too.'

There was a heavy pause as Data went back to his thoughts. Clearly, if Tasha was waiting to hear him say that her own specially replicated civilian clothes looked nice on her, she'd be doing so for a long time.

She rested her feet up on a hefty box of weaponry, puffing irritably through the silence. After a while, she became aware of a strange sound emanating from the Captain as he piloted his yacht down to the surface of the planet. She swapped glances with Deanna, Worf and Beverly.

'Is he… _singing_?'

-x-

The Ba'ku scrambled about her, loading up provisions for their escape from the village while she helped to set up transport inhibitors as swiftly and smoothly as possible. She wondered absently what that must be like – to have lived in a place for so very long, only all of a sudden to be under threat of losing it. She couldn't remember the home that she must have had on Turkana before her parents had been killed. The closest she had ever come to losing what felt like home had been when the Enterprise D had crashed – and then she'd been too busy trying not to die to really appreciate the experience. As she pondered, a tall, youthful man dodged past too close to her, tripped over her foot and went tumbling to the ground, along with armfuls of food rations.

'Oh! Sorry!'

The man looked up at her; only a shadow of embarrassment colouring the good humour in his expression.

'Just do me a favour,' he replied, scooping up the dropped rations, 'if anyone asks tomorrow why their lunch tastes muddy, deny all knowledge of what just happened.'

Tasha offered down a hand to help hoist the man up. 'You're very cheery for a man who's just been woken up in the middle of the night to flee the home he's had for centuries.'

'_You're_ very cheery for an Officer of an intergalactic fleet who's just jeapordised her entire career.'

'I trust my instincts,' Tasha replied. 'It's not all over for me just yet.'

'I trust mine, too,' replied the man with a smile. 'And it's not all over for me yet, either. Besides – I might be losing my home for a little while, but I just fell over the feet of a particularly beautiful woman.' He struggled to extend a hand to hers without dropping more rations. 'My name's Marven.'

'Tasha,' replied Tasha, suppressing her smile at his charming impertinence and keeping her handshake as businesslike as possible.

'Hello, Tasha,' beamed Marven. 'Looks like we've both fallen on hard times – I've recently been made homeless – you, recently unemployed… how much we have in common…'

Tasha shook her head. 'Marven, before you start…'

Marven allowed the faintest frown to wrinkle his forehead. 'You're married?'

'No, but… it's complicated.'

'We're all of us complicated, Tasha…'

Marven trailed off, his attention caught by something up in the sky. Tasha followed his gaze. Ships! The Son'a were attacking!

'Run!'

They scattered away from the blasts from the Son'a ship. Amidst the confusion she saw Data for a moment – not running away from the explosions, but _towards_ them. She didn't even realise that she was still holding Marven's hand until she let go in order to pursue Data, screaming obscenities at the metal idiot to get to cover as she went. A gaggle of Ba'ku pushed past her briefly, causing her to lose sight of Data. When she saw him again, he had a young boy in his arms and had changed tack – heading for shelter as fast as he could. He was shouting something to her, but she couldn't hear above the panicked roar and the blasts blighting the village. As he approached her, he slung the child into one arm and used the other to unceremoniously grab her waist and heave her up as he ran.

'What are you _doing_?' she furiously demanded.

A blast hit the ground where she had only just been.

'What are _you_ doing?' Data countered. 'Do you wish to be killed?'

'I was going after you!'

'I am considerably faster and more physically robust than you are,' Data countered. 'I am capable of looking after myself.'

'So am I. Would you put me down?'

'Not until you are safe.'

'Dammit, Data, put me _down!_'

The boy slung over Data's shoulder squinted across at Tasha. 'Is that your wife?'

'No!' Chorused the pair.

'Betrothed, then?'

'No!'

'Just because you're acting like she's your wife.'

'Well, she is not.'

-x-

They lost a handful of Ba'ku in the attack – beamed away by the Son'a rather than killed, although Tasha didn't hold out that much hope for their prospects aboard the ship of their aggressors. Diligently, she and the other disobedient Officers helped the Captain to guide the remainders to relative safety. The sun came up as they trudged a long crocodile of refugees through green hills. It looked to be another glorious day – not a cloud in the sky. It was mid-morning by the time that they stopped, and the warming sun made Tasha all but forget that she'd been awake all night.

Maybe it wasn't just that. This planet was strange. It did odd things to people – filled them with strange energies.

Marven was quick to find her again, and was as warm and cheering as the sun as he helped her unpack the food rations to hand out.

'I'm complicated too, you know,' he announced, piecing out chunks of bread.

'What?'

'You said your love life was complicated.' Marven grinned. 'So's mine. Except that, some time ago, I accepted its complexity. Which, in turn, suddenly made it much more simple.'

'I don't understand.'

'Well,' Marven retorted, 'let's put it this way – what exactly is it that's so troublesome about your life that it would cause you to potentially turn down the advances of – if I may say so – a remarkably attractive suitor such as myself?'

Tasha quirked an eyebrow. '"Remarkably attractive", you say…?'

'I'm far too old to indulge in false modesty,' Marven replied. He blinked at her. 'Why? Would you deny it?'

'I wouldn't go _that_ far…'

Tasha wasn't quite sure how it was that Data had managed to get between Marven and she, but there he suddenly was, passing a stare of vague irritability between the pair of them. Tasha bit her lip, cutting her flirtatious banter with Marven abruptly short.

Marven seemed unperterbed. He offered a ration of food out to Data. 'You first in line for some delicious emergency supplies, then?'

'I do not need to eat.'

'Shame,' retorted Marven with a smile. 'This stuff is absolutely the finest in tasteless, dry carbohydrate.' He held a ration to his nose and gave it a deep sniff. 'Mmm. Functional.'

Data clearly decided to give up on Marven, and turned his attention to Tasha. 'There are seven pregnant females in this group, and sixty eight young children. They are in urgent need of nourishment.'

'We're getting the rations ready for them as quick as we can,' snapped Tasha in reply. 'We'd be faster at it if we weren't getting distracted.'

'Yes,' retorted Data, casting a loaded glance towards Marven, 'you would.'

-x-

The Enterprise crew themselves were among the last to get food rations. With Worf off scouting the route ahead, the Captain indisposed and Data annoying her as if it was his job, Tasha found the two other female Officers to eat her breakfast with. Deanna just picked delicately at her food with a far-away smile, but Beverly was quick to give Tasha a conspiratorial nudge.

'So, what's with Tall And Handsome?'

'Marven?' Tasha shrugged, smacking her lips over her first dry, bland mouthful of stodgy ration. 'I don't know. He's really great, but… I don't know.'

'Well, if you don't want him, can I have him?'

'Beverly!'

'What?' replied the Doctor, innocently. 'Everyone's pairing up. Deanna's all of a flutter over Will again, Jean-Luc's all over this Anij woman like a shrunken spacesuit and here's me widowed, alone and frisky as a midsummer stoat.'

Tasha frowned. 'Are stoats particularly frisky in the midsummer months?'

'It's a saying,' shrugged Beverly.

'I've never heard it before.'

'It's a saying that I just made up. My goodness, you know who you sound like, don't you?'

'Hmm.' Tasha gazed down at the unappetising food in her hands.

'Oh, Tasha,' sighed Beverly. 'Is _that_ why you're giving this new guy the cold shoulder? I thought you were happy just being friends with Data.'

'I am…' Tasha slumped. 'I was. I just don't want Marven to become another Morton Baker. It took a long time for that guy to forgive me for humiliating him the way I did.'

'You tried to warn him…'

'That was no reason to act like he didn't exist the moment Data got emotions.' Tasha sank a cheek into her hand. 'I wasn't able to make Morton understand just how heavily the history between me and Data weighs on me. And I know I can't make Marven understand it. He's so footloose and fancy-free. He doesn't see. He doesn't see how Data's always… always _there_.'

She paused, running the last phrase over in her mind. 'He's always there. Always!'

'You're getting too knotted up over this,' announced Deanna from her little bubble of bliss. 'Relax. Data's made his feelings clear to you – you're a free agent. If you like Marven, then go for it.'

'I don't know,' Tasha sighed. 'I don't know if Data's saying one thing but expecting another…'

'This is Data we're talking about,' Beverly replied. 'He's hardly one for emotional manipulation or mind games.'

Tasha turned back to Troi. 'What do you think, Deanna?'

'If you're asking me whether I can sense something other than what he's saying,' Deanna shrugged, 'it's like I keep saying – even with his emotions running, apart from the odd blip, he barely registers for me. Compared to an average human's, his emotions to me are like a cave painting next to a Rembrant. I can't get any detail out of him. You annoy him but he's fond of you. That's all I can tell, which is no more than he's told you himself.'

'So?' Beverly asked, impatiently. '_Do_ you like Marven?'

Tasha scoffed a soft laugh at her friends. This was like being thirteen again. Or at least it would be had she been a normal thirteen-year-old, not one hiding in sewers from drug-addled rape gangs and whoring herself for table scraps.

'He's very charming,' Tasha replied.

'And…?!?'

'And, maybe if he isn't too busy fleeing for his very life this evening, I might see if he'd care to join me for a fine dinner of dry, tasteless rations,' conceded Tasha.

'Atta girl,' replied Deanna in a particularly Rikerish manner.

'Shame,' smiled Beverly. 'But remember – if things don't work out with him, I'm next in line.'


	55. Chapter 55

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

On A Day Like This

-x-

Two

-x-

They were taking refuge in a series of mountain caves before Tasha had chance to speak with Marven again. Even then, it was he who found her rather than the other way around.

'Do you like our caves?' he asked, conversationally.

'Dank,' noted Tasha, 'dark, dingy… everything a cave should be.'

'I knew you'd be impressed, Spacegirl,' Marven grinned, leaning against the cave wall and stretching out his legs. 'So, I was wondering if you weren't doing anything right now… which, it appears, you aren't…'

Tasha was suddenly aware of a gaze burrowing into the back of her head. She looked over her shoulder and saw that Data had somehow positioned himself less than a metre away from Marven and she.

'Can I help you, Data?'

'No,' replied Data, matter-of-factly.

Tasha bit down a swell of aggravation. 'Well, would you mind moving elsewhere? This is a private conversation.'

Data nodded, smoothly. 'Of course.'

He moved away, but not far away enough. Tasha could still see him, and was sure that he could still hear everything that she and Marven said. She considered asking him to move even further away until she realised that the cave was so small that there would be nowhere that the android could go that would be sufficiently far for her to feel comfortable talking privately with Marven.

Marven seemed to pick up on her unease. 'Now's not really the time,' he resolved, 'is it?'

'Marven…' attempted Tasha as he walked away.

'Maybe later,' he replied over his shoulder… and then, he was lost amongst the throng of refugees.

Tasha clawed angrily at her fringe and huffed out in frustration. Matters certainly weren't helped by Data walking back up to her.

'Is your private conversation over now?'

'Yes,' seethed Tasha, 'thanks to you.'

'I do not know what you mean.'

'Well, of course you do.' Determined to be left alone by that damned android, Tasha turned off into a small hollow in the cave's wall – anything to afford her a bit of privacy. Unfortunately, Data followed her in to the grotto.

'I do not,' persisted Data. 'Did I embarrass you in some way? Did I say anything untoward to the man with whom you were conversing?'

'It's not that, Data…'

'Then, why are you angry with me?'

The grotto had no exit bar the one that Data was – unintentionally or not – blocking. Tasha had no way out, and no other vent for her growing anger unless she was to just come out and say it.

'Because, Data,' she blurted, 'because you're always _there_! Why do you always have to be there?'

'I do not…'

'You've said that you're not interested,' continued Tasha, building up steam, 'and I've dealt with that heartache, but you just won't go away! Why can't you go away and let me get on with my life?'

'But…'

'I flirt a little with Marven – you're there. I tried to go on a date with Morton – there you were. I tried to make things work with Rocco – you, again, getting under my feet, under my skin… You know, I used to chastise myself for being the one who was always drawing you close when it suited me and then pushing you back when it got too serious, but you? You're worse than I ever was. You said I should stop seeing you as my emotional property by default – well, why can't you do the same for me? You've set yourself free from this relationship, why can't you do me the same favour?'

'I was not aware that I…'

'I started screwing you when I was 27 years of age, Data, and now I'm starting to see 40 looming up on me. I am too old for this crap. I'm too old to keep myself on the shelf for somebody who can't love me.'

'But…'

'Why can't you leave me alone, Data? Why do you always have to be there? You're ruining my life – what reason can you possibly have for tormenting me like this?'

There was a pause. Evidently, Data hadn't realised that Tasha's furious speech was over and that her final question had not been rhetorical – or if he had, he had no ready answer to give.

'Well?' prompted Tasha, hotly.

Data paused again, before answering, meekly, 'Because…'

'"Because"?' Echoed Tasha.

'Because…'

'Because _what_?'

'Because…'

'"Because, because, because…" spit it out, you dumb sack of circuitry!'

'Because I love you!'

Tasha froze, her mouth slack with surprise. From his expression, Data had been expecting to say what he had just as much as Tasha had been expecting to hear it.

After a moment, more to break the silence than anything, Tasha demanded; '_what_?'

'Oh,' said Data, flatly. He sank himself down smoothly into a seated position, gazing off into the middle distance. 'I did say that out loud, did I not?'

'Yes. Yes, you did.' Tasha paused. 'Did… you mean it?'

'Of course.'

Tasha licked her lips, dryly. 'Since when?'

Data shook his head, as though presented with a scientific impossibility. 'Since the moment I said it… since the moment I first experienced emotion… since the moment we first had sexual contact… since the moment we met… I do not know. I cannot tell when the change occurred. Perhaps it never did. But that does not make any sense.'

'Irrational, nonsensical, bewildering… sounds like love to me, all right.'

'Apparently so.' Data exhaled deeply, a troubled look on his face. 'What am I supposed to do now?'

Tasha stared at him. She found an involuntary smile of amusement creeping over her lips. 'Wait a minute – are you still trying to find problems with this? Do you have any idea how long I've been aching for you to feel this way about me?'

'But you just said that you wanted to be set free from any emotional ties to me.'

Tasha sat down next to him. 'I'm still in love with you, Data. So if you feel the same way about me that I do about you…'

'What about Marven?'

'Nobody's denying that your timing on this matter sucks like a malfunctioning airlock.' She laughed a little, lightheaded. 'I mean – eleven years we've been doing this dance; six since I fell for you and began this wretched vigil for your affections. You might have put me out of my misery long ago, but no. You had to wait 'til I'd got myself lined up for my first date in years and wreck the thing, just like you did the last one.'

'Eleven years,' muttered Data. 'Eleven years.'

'Bet you can round it down to the second.'

'To the nanosecond,' Data confirmed, 'that is, depending upon whether we are to count the "dance" from when I first encountered you, or our first kiss, or the first time that we… in fact, as I recall, we did not share a kiss until _after _we had commenced our first sexual union.'

Tasha smirked. 'Well, not on the lips, anyway.'

'Ours has been a most peculiar courtship, thus far.'

There was a pause, as they both stared down at their knees. At first, Tasha thought that Data had began to softly cry, although when she looked across at him in concern she realised that, in fact, he was trying and failing to stifle a laugh.

'What's so funny?'

'I am capable of processing thousands of separate items of information at the same time,' Data replied through his giggles, 'I can solve scientific and mathematical problems that would take a team of great human or Vulcan minds months of research in a matter of moments. My positronic brain has been lauded as one of the great wonders of our age, yet it has taken me eleven years to comprehend something as simple as how much I love you. I am an idiot!'

He was laughing hard now; clutching at his shaking shoulders. Tasha found herself joining in with the infectious hysterics.

'The fabulous, miraculous Mister Data,' she added, 'the 24th Century's Great Detective – two time outfoxer of the terrible, inscrutable Borg…'

'A halfwit!' laughed Data. 'A numbskull! A clod!'

All of a sudden, it wasn't just their shoulders that shook. The floor of the grotto, the walls and the rocky ceiling of it trembled, causing a thin crack to appear in the stone above them. Their laughter broke off as they peered around the grumbling grotto with concern.

'Look at that,' noted Tasha, getting to her feet, 'you tell me you love me, and the earth moves.'

'These tunnels must be structurally unsound,' Data added, wiping his eyes. 'We must get back to the main group and organise an evacuation.'

Tasha nodded in understanding, and began to head towards the grotto's entrance. 'Crappy timing strikes again.'

Data caught her arm. 'There must be time for a kiss while we are still alone, at least…?'

She smiled, and leaned in towards him.

The whole cave shifted and rumbled again. The fissure above their heads split wider, showering them with a fine dust.

'Nope,' Tasha replied, hurriedly pulling him out of the grotto, 'we have definitely got to get outta here.'

-x-

It was over. The Son'a were defeated, and the Ba'ku free to live their lives as they had for so very many years. The sun shone, birds chirruped… this was paradise. Yes, this was truly paradise.

They had made their excuses as the others had mingled with the Ba'ku, and had found a secluded spot behind a barn. Tasha was drenched in warm sunlight, the buzz of a successful mission and the mysterious whatever-it-was about the Ba'ku planet that was making everyone so very perky. She had one hand in an android's hair, another cradling the small of his back and her tongue down his throat. And the android loved her. Paradise. She moved the hand on his back down and round, over his hips and managed to get it to his thigh before he stopped her.

He pulled out of the kiss with an expression of embarrassment. 'Sorry…'

She gazed down at him. 'Same trouble as… as in the escape pod…?'

'I thought that it would have righted itself by now.'

'Hey. It's OK. These things don't get better overnight. I should know.' She played her fingers through his hair. 'We'll take it as slow as you like. I've waited this long, after all.'

He reached up and pushed her fringe away from her eyes. 'Thank you.'

She leaned down again and gently kissed him, just the tip of her tongue playing at the entrance of his slightly parted lips, her hands making a pretence at weighing his down by the sides of his head.

He smiled a little. 'I like that.'

'Thought you might. Let's do it again…'

'Tasha?'

Tasha looked up with a start. Marven had spotted them, and was striding towards them.

Tasha cringed inwardly. _Marven!_ She hadn't had the chance to spend any time alone with him since the caves – hadn't had chance to explain. And now he'd seen them. Dammit, this was going to be Morton Baker all over again. She quickly got up off Data and they sat up, as innocently as they could muster, side-by-side – but surely, the damage had already been done. They had been caught.

Marven sat himself down in between the pair. If he was angry, he certainly wasn't showing it. He seemed perfectly calm – cheery, even.

'Hello,' he smiled.

'Hi, Marven,' muttered Tasha, nervously. 'How're you doing?'

'Pretty good,' replied Marven, without irony. 'You saved my planet today. I'm impressed and relieved in fairly equal measures. Only dampener on my day, really, is that I haven't been able to spend any time with you since the caves, and now they're saying you're going to be leaving soon. I wanted the chance to thank you… and perhaps to finish off the conversation we were having…?' Marven acknowledged the distinctly sheepish looking android for the first time, but did so without any apparent animosity. 'You seemed to be busy, though. Hope I haven't interrupted anything important…'

Tasha exhaled. Time to face the music. 'Well, as a matter of fact…'

'Tasha and I have a lengthy and highly involved history together,' Data interjected.

Marven nodded, sagely. 'She did say that her love life was "complicated".' He turned, brightly, to Tasha. 'See? I do understand warnings!'

'I love her,' Data announced. 'Perhaps I always have – perhaps I just needed this world to show me that I did.' Data shared a small smile with Tasha. 'She waited for me. For so many years. I apologise, Marven. This is all my…'

'But you're a machine,' interrupted Marven.

'I _can_ feel emotion,' Data retorted, 'ever since…'

'This place can even help biological and electronic beings discover their adoration for each other?' Marven's face was alight with joy. 'I _love_ this world! Have I mentioned my unfathomed gratitude for the way you saved it for us yet?'

'You have,' Tasha replied. 'But… aren't you disappointed? Upset?'

'I'm so happy for you!' Marven grabbed Tasha's face in giddy delight and kissed her passionately on the lips.

'Um,' replied Tasha, once her mouth was finally free, 'I don't think you've quite got the…'

Marven turned to Data, his glee not fading. 'Congratulations, both of you.' Marven planted a second kiss, just as passionately happy, on the android's mouth.

'Ah,' muttered Tasha, watching the kiss, slack-jawed. She now remembered notes from the Federation's earlier study of the Ba'ku mentioning a trend in younger, childless adults for polyamorous groupings. No wonder Marven hadn't been upset at seeing Data and she together – as far as he was concerned, he'd just bagged himself two dates instead of only one.

Three seconds into the kiss, she started thinking that she should really stop it and bid Marven a polite goodbye.

Five seconds into the kiss, she realised that clearing her throat wasn't going to break it up, but could find no other way of interjecting that she felt comfortable with.

Seven seconds into the kiss, she decided just to let it run its natural course, and started taking mental snapshots for the record.

It was a good ten seconds or so before Marven finally released Data.

'Oh, good kisses from Mister Robotic here. Consider me an Electro-Convert. Praise be!'

'Thank you…?' replied Data, for want of a more apt response.

'Marven.' Tasha laid a hand on Marven's knee, in what she hoped could only be construed as a conciliatory manner. 'Considering the difficult past me and Data have had, and how long it's taken us to get this far… I think, right now, we just want to work this out between the two of us.'

'Really?' Marven's face fell for the first time.

'I believe that that would be best for us,' added Data.

'Besides,' continued Tasha, 'we'll be leaving very soon.'

'On top of which,' Data disclosed, 'I have recently had a… distressing sexual experience, from which I am still recovering. I am struggling enough in intimate situations with only one partner, whom I know and trust…'

Marven's expression crumpled into one of childlike pity. 'Oh, you poor, sexy thing.' He leaned in for another kiss, but Data blocked his lips with an upheld finger. 'It is my problem, not yours. Please do not take this as a personal rejection.'

'I understand.' Marven still looked dejected. 'I just wish there was some way I could thank you people – these kind strangers who risked their careers… their lives… to save our planet.'

Tasha thought. 'There might be. You remember our Doctor Crusher?'

Marven found his smile again. 'The lady Doctor. Hair like the first rays of dawn; skin like porcelain. Wonderful hands. Yes. I remember her.'

'She likes you.' Tasha squeezed his arm. 'And I believe the words "alone and frisky as a midsummer stoat" were mentioned.'

'Say no more.' Marven got to his feet and straightened his collar. 'Best of luck, the both of you. Maybe some day in the future you can visit and we can all have sex.'

'Maybe…' conceded Data, 'but probably not.' The android took Tasha's hand.

Marven's face was the very picture of syrupy sentimentality.

'Monogamy. How sweet. Well, goodbye, then.'

Tasha waited until Marven had wandered off before turning back to Data. 'Well, that was an education.'

'Did you think so?' Data replied, innocently. 'Bisexuality and polyamory have been well noted in many Ba'ku adults…'

'I didn't mean his approach,' Tasha retorted, 'I meant, _your_ response. Almost as though you had been in the same sort of situation before.'

'Not _exactly_ the same.'

'How so?'

'That was the first time that I have found it pertinent to refuse such an offer.'

Tasha blinked.

'What part of "programmed in multiple techniques of pleasuring" did you fail to comprehend, exactly?' added Data. 'You know that I have had varied casual encounters in the past…'

'You are gonna have to start writing your sexual memoirs down for me,' Tasha told him. 'Maybe make a couple of Holodeck programmes of the best ones…?'

Data looked at her, blankly, then shook his head with a faint roll of the eyes. 'What am I to do with you?'

'I'll give you a hint,' Tasha replied, taking his hand and laying it on her thigh as she leaned in for another kiss, 'but I'll take your lead. Go as far as you want to; if you wanna stop, then stop.'

They kissed again - slowly, gently. His hands moved up to her back and pulled her down on top of him again. He pushed his fingers through her hair for a moment before running them down the side of her neck to find the clasp of her tunic.

There was the sound of a scuffle and a muffled laugh from a side of the barn. Tasha tried to pull herself away from Data at the sound, but they became all the more entangled, and were unable to free themselves from their clinch before a second couple, in similar uniforms and similar disarray, tumbled giggling around the corner. The new couple noticed the amorous scene in front of them as one, and froze with a unified chorus of 'Oh' – although, Tasha noted, neither of the other pair had the decency to look anywhere near as embarrassed as she felt.

For a moment, nobody moved. It seemed that the interlopers were looking to Tasha or Data to react first.

'I'm sorry,' announced Tasha at last, sitting upright and re-fastening her uniform, 'are we disturbing you?'

Will seemed to remember that he still had his hand inside Deanna's tunic, and removed it appropriately.

'Well,' he replied, gruffly, 'Deanna and I, see, we…'

'She already knows about us, Will,' interjected Troi. 'The whole ship already knows about us. Even Data knows about us.'

'That is true,' Data added. 'You were not particularly good at hiding the renewal of your love affair.'

'Said the pot to the kettle,' Will retorted. 'You and Tasha were so snippy with each other yesterday, everybody knew it was building up to something. We'd started a Sweepstake, as a matter of fact, so if you'd be so good as to let Beverly know at what time you kids got back together at your earliest convenience, she can notify the winner.'

'It was early afternoon,' said Deanna, plainly. 'In the caves.'

Tasha narrowed her eyes. 'Deanna Troi, were you _eavesdropping_?'

'After a fashion. An android realising he's in love for the first time – you'd better believe I felt that one.'

'Love?' from Will's wide, sappy grin, you'd think that a hundred clumsy puppies had just scampered up to him, voluntarily assembled into rows and started yelping a well-rehearsed but adorably imperfect rendition of "Take Five". 'This is actually love requited?'

Data nodded, with an expression of faint pride.

'Aww.'

Tasha addressed Data, irritably. 'This is sickening. He thinks this is cute again. Why does he always think this is so cute?'

'Are you kidding?' replied Will. 'One of my best friends finally gets the guy she's been waiting for so many years…'

'Way to make me sound like a lonely old spinster, Will…'

'…And another of my best friends,' continued Will, unabated, 'is falling in love for the first time ever. Your first time! You're a Love Virgin, Data.'

'I believe that you are correct, Tasha,' Data told her, an odd look on his face. 'This _is_ "sickening".'

'What?' protested Will. 'I'm just saying. This is a beautiful moment.'

Deanna patted Will's chest. 'Stop talking now, dear.' She turned to the other couple. 'We'll leave you two alone.'

Tasha huffed and shrugged. 'Mood's gone, now. As well you know.'

'Sorry.' Deanna sat down next to Tasha. 'If it's any consolation, it's me who ends up stuck with the hairy testosterone monster who won't shut up.'

'I shaved,' objected Will, sitting with the rest of them.

Tasha curled a small smile. 'Mine has trouble shutting up too.'

'Please refrain from referring to me as though I am absent when I am, in fact, sitting right next to you.' Data met eyes with Riker. They shook their heads in unison. 'Women.'

Tasha hugged her knees up to her chest, allowing her head to rest on Data's shoulder.

'So, what happens now?'

'I think our actions against Admiral Dougherty's orders have been adequately justified,' Riker replied. 'I imagine, once we've left here, it'll be business as usual.'

'But it won't be, will it? Everything's changed.'

'Has that much really changed?' Deanna asked. 'Have we really changed, or have we just been made to start seeing things in a different light?' She gave Tasha a smile. 'You think it isn't even a little daunting for us, re-embarking on a long-defunct love affair?' Deanna squeezed Will's arm. 'We'll make a new path for ourselves – we're older and wiser – we'll learn from our past mistakes. And so will you. Will was right – it's just business as usual. And I think you're going to be fine. We're all going to be fine this time.'

-x-

Six weeks later.

-x-

A hand, running gently over her hair as she read. She smiled, and only batted it playfully away once the fingers had moved down to brush the curve of her neck.

'That tickles.'

'Are you studying?'

'Yes.'

'Is it necessary that you study right at this instant?'

'It's always necessary that I study. This meat brain of mine can't just download information in a zip, the way yours can.'

'Can it wait a while?'

She turned to him. 'What's up with you tonight?'

He gave her a smile that appeared genuinely free – genuinely the happiest and most unfettered that she believed she had ever seen on him. 'Very little. Very little indeed is "up", if, by "up", I am to take it that you mean "wrong".'

'Good Counselling session this evening, was it?'

'It is not Deanna Troi who is making me feel better…' he paused, and pondered this statement. 'Well, it _is_, but for different reasons. And it is not regarding my relationship with her that I have reached an epiphany.'

She cocked her head at him. 'An epiphany…? What are you talking about?'

He pulled her up out of her seat. 'I have had a difficult time of late. I have had trouble adjusting to my new capabilities, and to certain psychologically harming events that have befallen me. But you have waited for me. You have given me the opportunity to heal myself of my damage. And what I want now is gentleness. And joy. And love. From you, Tasha.'

'Oh. I see what you did there.'

He pulled her a little closer. 'You are fully functional, are you not?'

She brushed her thumb over his temple. 'I'm capable of multiple techniques,' she replied. 'A broad variety of…'

She never got to finish that sentence. And she didn't do any more studying that night.

-x-

_A.N. – Apologies: On A Day Like This was intended to be available all in one go – I cut it in half purely for length and was in the process of posting part 2 when Technology decided it wasn't going to be my friend any more. My internet connection completely died mid-post and has only just come back, hence the lateness & my not being able to reply to any reviews, questions etc. Sorry to those of you who felt chapter 54 on its own was frustrating – imagine my own frustration at having the resolution to 54 chapters of angsting sitting on my hard drive, unable to upload. I hope you felt the release of chapter 55 was worth it.  
_

_Scribbles_

_xxx_


	56. Chapter 56

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

I Do

-x-

One

-x-

'You KNEW?'

Pran Tainer, the Atrean who had been a second husband to the being that Data had called "mother", was a picture of venomous fury.

Tasha knew that Data had no cause to be afraid of his sort-of-Stepfather's ire, and yet the hundred-kilogram android still discreetly clasped her hand. She was glad of it, in a way. Her boyfriend was having a tough day to say the least, and she was happy that she could be there for him.

'I considered informing her once I had discovered the nature of her being,' Data replied, 'but I did not see how knowing what she really was would benefit her. She was created to believe that she was human…'

'She was created because your maker didn't see why the fact that one of _his_ machines had murdered his wife amongst thousands of others should impede on his sex life,' Tainer spat. 'She was created to deceive. She's a lie. I married a lie, and you sat by and let me carry on with it.'

'Part of the reason that I kept the truth from her was that I knew that she loved you, but I did not know how well you would react to the news…'

'Don't you _dare_!' Tainer lunged towards Data, pointing an angry index finger in his face. 'Don't you dare, when you let us carry on as though everything was fine, when you let me take her to a hospital when she got sick, even though they'd never have been able to help her…'

'I did not know that she had been experiencing difficulties,' Data replied. 'Nobody told me that she was in hospital…'

'We could have taken her to somebody who _could_ have helped, if we'd known,' Tainer continued.

'Dr Tainer, we know that you're deeply hurt right now,' interrupted Tasha. 'You've lost your wife, and found out that the woman you loved wasn't the person you thought she was, all on the same day. But please, don't take it out on Data. He's grieving too – he just lost his mother.'

'His sister,' corrected Tainer, bitterly, 'if you insist on giving familial epithets to these… these Things. These machines. Soong tricked me into marrying a machine…'

'My father had no intention of deceiving anybody into marrying her when she was created…'

'And,' added Tainer, talking loudly over Data, 'you continued the trick. Is that how you things integrate – through duplicity?'

'I do not.'

'But you lied to me. And you lied to her. And now she's dead, and I... I don't know what the last eight years of my life even mean any more.' Tainer stepped away from Data, turning his head as though that could hide his tears. 'I've been married to a machine. Who would marry a machine?'

'You have every right to be upset and angry,' said Tasha, 'but now you're just being insulting. We came here to help you, not to take abuse.'

'You're too late to help. Much too late.'

'We intended to assist you with the funeral arrangements,' Data replied. 'Disposal of her body will have to be different to traditional methods for human remains…'

'Take it,' interrupted Tainer. 'Take the broken machine. Do what you want with it. It's not my wife. It's not the person that I loved.' He pressed his fingers over his clenched eyelids. 'I wash my hands of Soong's creations. All of them.'

'Are you suggesting that you have no wish to attend her funeral?' Data asked. 'I believe that that is inadvisable. Memorial ceremonies are a crucial part of the bereavement process…'

'Go away.'

'But if you would just…'

Tainer glared back at Data, his eyes red with fury and grief. 'Go!'

Tasha squeezed Data's hand. 'C'mon.'

She led him out of what had laughably been dubbed the Hospital's "quiet room" and into the corridor. They walked a short way together in silence, creating a much-needed distance between them and Tainer. They reached a door to another section of walkway – leading to where, Tasha was sure she neither knew nor cared. Once they'd passed the door, they stopped. Tasha pulled him towards her; cradling the back of his head in both hands as his face fell into her shoulder.

'You OK?'

Data didn't answer.

'Stupid question, right?'

Tasha felt Data wordlessly nod; his face still buried in her shoulder.

'Guess it's true what they say,' Tasha added after a while with a forced cheer, 'you can pick your friends, you can pick your nose, but you can't pick your family. The last thing you needed today was for your Stepfather to be such a jerk about the whole situation.'

Data pulled apart from Tasha, shaking his head. 'I can understand his impulse to lash out – especially at me. I look like the man who created his version of Juliana to pass as human, even to herself; I represent the truth of her nature… and besides which, I knew. I knew, and I kept it from them.'

'Data, please tell me you don't blame yourself for what happened today.'

'Dr Tainer was right – if she knew the truth about what she was, she would have known that the problems she was encountering were due to her systems malfunctioning rather than any mysterious illness. She could have gone to me, or to the Daystrom Institute for help, rather than wasting her time going to a hospital.'

'Data,' Tasha reminded him, 'it wasn't the malfunctions that killed her. The shock of finding out what she was sent her systems into cascade failure.'

'Precisely. Had I been able to break it to her more gently when I found out, all of this could have been circumvented.'

'Or,' countered Tasha, 'she could have died back then instead, and missed the last few, blissfully happy years of her life.'

'Perhaps,' replied Data with a sigh.

Before they could continue their conversation any further, they were interrupted by a nurse, whose superficial expression of sympathy did little to mask the rushed aggravation that lay beneath.

'Mister Data?'

Data forced a polite smile. 'Yes.'

'First of all, we're so sorry for your loss…'

'It was not your fault,' Data replied, apparently not realising that her condolence was pure formality. 'None of you could possibly have saved her.'

The nurse nodded, briskly. 'Have you started thinking about… funeral arrangements, at all?'

'I have just attempted to engage with Dr Tainer about that very matter, but at present, he is too consumed with shock to consider the practical issues that have arisen following my mother's death.'

'Yes,' replied the nurse, 'I know. We've just been trying to talk with him ourselves – he's saying that all responsibility for dealing with Juliana's affairs should be passed on to you.'

'He implied the same sentiment to me. Very well. Civilian Terran crematoria will not be able to adequately dispose of an android body. The Enterprise has a prior engagement at Ganymede Science Station at the present, but it is due to return tomorrow at 11am Greenwich Mean Time. I propose that Juliana's remains should be transported aboard with Commander Yar and myself then. We shall arrange a fitting memorial ceremony for her there, and then atomise her remains…'

'That sounds ideal,' interjected the nurse, clearly impatient to get the conversation over sooner rather than later and return to her heavy workload. 'But I'm afraid there are some legalities to be seen to first. First of all, I'm afraid you still need a Death Certificate in this part of the world.'

'Can't the hospital do that?' Tasha asked.

'We give you the cause of death paperwork,' replied the nurse, holding out a small envelope, 'and believe me, given Juliana's unusual circumstances, that in itself has proved tricky enough for us.'

Tasha frowned slightly at the envelope as Data took it from the nurse and read the contents.

'You still do stuff on paper?'

The nurse raised her eyebrows. 'You've never had to deal with British Bureaucracy before, have you?'

'I aim to avoid every kind of bureaucracy, whenever I can.'

'Wish _I_ could,' said the nurse. 'You need to take that paperwork to the local Registrar on Holland Street… I could order a private shuttle for you, but by the time it got here, you might as well have walked it.'

Data put the papers back into the envelope with his usual smooth neatness. 'I believe that a walk would benefit me, at present.'

The nurse nodded. 'Do you need a map, or have you got a locator?'

'_I_ am a locator,' Data told her. 'Holland Street… twenty three minutes' walk, at a pace comfortable for Tasha; much of it along the south bank of the Thames. Very scenic, or so I am told.'

'It's a nice day for a walk,' replied the nurse with a nod. 'Well… it's not raining, at least.'

'Please let Dr Tainer know that I can be contacted via the Enterprise at any time, should he change his mind regarding his involvement with the funeral process,' Data told the nurse. 'I hope, for the sake of his long-term emotional wellbeing, that he does.'

-x-

It was indeed not raining, but beyond that, the weather was as flat and dull and sad as her mood. They'd made such plans, when the Tainers had taken up a new placement in London. She and Data had managed to persuade the Captain to allow them some leave time together– two whole weeks… quite a feat for two Senior Officers of the same Starship. They had been due to visit Juliana in May – to tour Europe together, with London as their base. Late spring, blossom in the warm air… art, architecture… Data would have loved it. And now all they had was a cold, overcast walk along the riverbank to complete paperwork and grieve. Some great romantic getaway.

She looked up at the pale grey sky and sighed. 'A foggy day in London town…'

'Actually,' replied Data in subdued tones, 'the "fog" that many visitors to London in the early 20th Century referred to was in fact smoke or soot – pollution. It is much cleaner now, as you can see, and not particularly prone to fog.'

'Pretty overbearing sky, though.'

'Yes,' Data agreed. 'To my recollection, I have never yearned for sunlight while aboard a Starship in the past. However, at this particular moment, a patch of blue in the sky would be… welcomed.'

She took his hand and leaned into him as they walked along the edge of the murky river.

'Do you think that Dr Tainer will change his mind about attending the funeral?' Data asked.

Tasha shook her head vaguely. 'I barely know the guy. But you're right – he needs to go.'

'Perhaps I should ask Counsellor Troi to approach him on the matter,' pondered Data. 'It is in the interest of his own benefit…'

'And in the interest of the memory of the woman he was married to,' Tasha added. 'Why does the fact that she was really an android change anything? She was a good, loving person and she deserves to have the husband that she was devoted to for the final years of her life be there at her own damn funeral.'

'You are exhibiting bias, Tasha. If you must compare our relationship with that of my mother and Dr Tainer, please remember that you have always been aware of what I am. You have not been made to feel that you have lived a lie. He has.'

'I know,' sighed Tasha. 'And I don't blame Tainer for his actions – not really. This isn't his fault.'

They walked in silence for a moment. Tasha knew full well that the conversation could have been ended there – should have been ended there. But the situation – Tainer's misery and Juliana's bewildered end and Data's sorrow – it all made her so angry; too angry to hold her tongue.

'It's your father's fault.'

'Tasha…' Data spoke her name in a neutral tone, yet she knew that it was a warning.

'Well, it is,' added Tasha. 'Building an exact replica of your dead wife and not even having the courage to let her know the truth of what she is? He must have known that she was bound to find out sooner or later. I tell you, it's a good job I never got chance to meet that old man face to face. Even before knowing about Juliana, I'd have liked to have given him a piece of my mind.'

'He was a good man,' argued Data. 'A great man.'

'He had all the moral responsibility of a wasp. He created sentient beings – physically strong, emotionally fragile, with brilliant minds that could be sent into meltdown or madness so easily… and just abandoned you. All of you.'

'He did what he had to do…'

'To save his own hide, sure. He left Lore, his great failure, railing against an unwitting living universe with an ally that could suck the life offa whole planets; he left Juliana ignorant of what she was rather than face the music and help her deal with the shock… and he left you – wonderful you – alone, unconscious, naked and defenceless on a planet that was being ripped apart…'

'He was made to believe that there was no room for me…'

'And he accepted it? Just like that? I'd have checked. I'd have double… triple checked. And if there really was no room, I'd have given you my seat. Because _I_ love you.'

'Are you suggesting that my father did not love me?'

'Data, I honestly don't understand how anyone who did love you could possibly leave you like that. What if it had been pirates who had found you, instead of the Federation – or Romulans, or Cardassians? Borg, even?'

'My father did not know about the Borg.'

'Exactly! He didn't know. He didn't know what was out there, and he just left you to it.'

Data exhaled through his teeth. 'Have you quite finished, yet?'

'I'm just saying…'

'No you are not "just saying" anything! This is a needless character assassination!'

'How can you defend him?'

'Because he was my father,' replied Data, furiously, 'and he was the only one that I had. And I would appreciate it if you would cease in this attack of my dead father's morality on the very day of my mother's death.'

Tasha chewed her lip and inwardly cursed her hot temper and dreadful timing. 'I'm sorry, Data. That was unfair of me. I just… it makes me angry to see you so hurt.'

'I know that you like to speak your mind,' Data said, the calm returning to his voice, 'regardless of social delicacies, particularly when I am involved. And I know that you still have your own abandonment issues, which must colour your perception of other family units…'

They had reached the junction to Holland Street. Data turned down towards the Registry Office sharply, forcing Tasha to break into a jog in order to catch up with him.

'Wait a minute! This isn't about me – this isn't about Turkana.'

'I believe that it is _always_ "about Turkana", as far as your relationship with the concept of family is concerned.'

'Take that back,' Tasha replied through gritted teeth. 'You know how hard I try to put all of that behind me.'

'It is most commendable that you do. However, I am not convinced that you have yet achieved that goal. It is not for me to say whether it is something that can ever be achieved. Perhaps not.'

'How dare you! How dare you turn this back on me! I think your family was dysfunctional because it _was_ dysfunctional. Incredibly so. I mean – a genocidal evil twin… how does a healthy family harbour one of those?'

'And I suppose Ishara was a blameless, delicate Angel?'

'Compared to Lore? She was Mahatma Freaking Ghandi!'

'Will you please stop bringing Lore into this discussion? This has nothing to do with Lore…'

'And it has nothing to do with Turkana, either. This is about _you_, Data. This is about how you can't possibly…'

A short, hunched figure pushed past them hurriedly, scuttling nervously up the steps towards the Registry Office's front door, trailing ivory petticoats in its wake. Tasha tilted her head at the figure, distracted from her tirade.

'Ferengi in a Wedding Gown,' she noted. 'Now, there's something you don't see every day.

Data nodded, equally fascinated. 'She must be eloping.'

'A female - unchaperoned and dressed, and on Earth of all places. Yeah, I can't imagine they'd be too happy with that back on her homeworld.'

As they watched, the taffeta-clad Ferengi was met at the door by a human – a small, mousey man in an ill-fitting formal suit, with shoulders stooped as though the weight of the world had been pressing on them for all his forty-odd years. The two clasped hands at the door, and gave one another a gaze that spoke of relief and gratitude, and utter devotion and adoration. For the first time since they had begun to argue, Tasha's hand found Data's as they watched the Bride and Groom disappear into the Registry Office.

'That's so sweet,' Tasha sighed.

Data gave her an odd look. 'Natasha Yar, feeling sentimental about a wedding? Whatever is the world coming to?'

'They must have given so much up for today,' Tasha breathed. 'So very much, for a few minutes in a little office, signing bits of paper… little bits of paper to say they don't belong to Ferenginar any more, or to Earth. They just belong to each other.'

'Because it does not matter,' added Data, watching the space where the Bride and Groom had stood. 'It does not matter where we come from, or what we are, or what our past has been like. Not in the grand scheme of things. What matters is here, now.'

He clasped her hand in both of his - a distracted expression on his face.

'C'mon.' She gave him a warm smile. 'Let's get this over with.'


	57. Chapter 57

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

I Do

-x-

Two

-x-

All that the Registrar had done had been to exchange that slip of paper from the hospital with another, sturdier, slip of paper. Juliana's Death Certificate was much the same as the hospital's note – it had her name, and where and when she had died, only this time, there was a tasteful holographic design of a lily in one corner of the paper. It still served only to make Juliana no more than a statistic – one of the millions upon millions of people who have lived their little lives through to the end. It made no mention of the remarkable truth of her being – the truth that had ultimately killed her. You live, you die, they put you in a box and give your loved ones a receipt of your life with a picture of a lily on it – no matter whether you were a commonplace human or a fabulous, unique machine, it seemed.

Data kept staring down at the certificate. He seemed lost.

'That was easier than I had presumed it would be,' he muttered. 'I had anticipated that there would have been… questions.'

'Don't suppose they think it matters what your mother was, now that she's gone.' Tasha played her fingertips around the hair at the nape of Data's neck. 'The Enterprise won't be back from Ganymede 'til tomorrow. I'll find us a hotel room with Comms vidiscreen access, we'll let the Captain know what's happened and then we can spend the rest of the afternoon picking a nice coffin and flowers out for when they beam her body on board.'

Data slid her a sideways look. 'Sounds enchanting.'

'Still haven't mastered sarcasm yet, have we?'

Data was about to reply when his attention was caught by something else. His expression softened as he nodded towards a window overlooking the Registry Office's small garden. 'Look. There they are again.'

Tasha looked. The mousey man and his timid Ferengi bride had evidently finished their brief wedding ceremony, and were posing in the cold wind for a few Holos as mementos of the day. They were only there for a moment before hurrying back into the warmth.

Tasha raised her eyebrows. 'Wow. That was short.'

'Life is short,' Data replied.

There was a pause. They stared out at the now empty garden, then at one another.

'Would _you_ "marry a machine"?' asked Data.

'What is it with you and other peoples' weddings?' Tasha asked. 'It's like an automatic urge you have to catch the virtual bouquet.'

'Fish of the day, Tasha.'

Tasha gave Data a long, hard look, then turned her head to the ajar office door of the Registrar who had just issued them with Juliana's Death certificate. Through the crack, Tasha could see the official, tapping away at her computer, alone. Wordlessly, she took Data's hand and led him back to the office.

She pulled him through into the office without knocking. The Registrar looked up from her desk with a faint frown.

'Is everything all right? I checked the certificate for any errors before I printed it…'

'Marry us,' Tasha demanded, urgently. 'You can do that, can't you?'

The Registrar sat back, her frown deepening. 'Um…'

'We've both got proof of ID,' Tasha added. 'We don't have to give any period of notice, do we…?'

'That has not been necessary in the British Isles since 2256,' interjected Data. 'All that is needed here is proof of identification, which we have, proof that both of us are aged over eighteen, which we are, a statement of psychological soundness, which if we may contact our Ship's Counsellor, I am certain she will be happy to send within a matter of minutes, and an official granted the responsibility to perform wedding ceremonies, which is you.'

'Um,' repeated the Registrar. 'It's not quite that simple, I'm afraid…'

'But the law of this land…'

'If you really know the law of this land as intricately as you're implying, Lieutenant Commander, then you'll know why I can't perform a marriage for you.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Tasha asked.

'Mister Data classifies as an N.B.B.' The Registrar gave them both an apologetic look. 'A Non-Biological Being. A planet-wide law was passed over four years ago now, banning marriage ceremonies between people… organic people, that is, and N.B.B's.'

'_What_?' seethed Tasha. 'This is Bullshit! He went through a tribunal – over a decade ago now… he's Sentient. He's entitled to the same rights as any humanoid. There was a Ruling! And now you're telling me there's some Earth-wide apartheid…?'

'The marriage law is to prevent people from marrying holograms of real people, or of fictional characters who are the intellectual property of others,' Data said. 'It should not apply to me.'

'But it does,' explained the Registrar in continued tones of apology. 'The law explicitly states that all Artificial Intelligence is subject to the ban. It might seem Draconian to you, but people were creating Holograms of their favourite actors, their exes, even themselves, and having weddings for these fantasies with no regard for the people whose images and personalities they'd copied – it was felt that something had to be done about it. People worry about the leaps in Holo technology. They worry about where all these new A.I's springing up all over the place are taking humanity… '

'How the Hell is any of that Data's problem?' Tasha barked, her fury growing. 'How dare you just lump him in with peoples' pet Holograms? He's not some computer-generated fantasy, he's a Godammed hero – he saved your ass, and the asses of the jerks who passed that law, and the asses of everything on this stupid planet _with_ an ass from the Hell of assimilation. Twice over. And believe me, you don't want to know the things he went through to do that, all to save you being some one-eyed automaton with nothing to say for itself but "Resistance is futile"…'

'Tasha,' murmured Data, 'please. That is enough.'

'No, it is _not_ enough! Because you know what? _I'm_ a Big Damn Hero too. I'm not some idiot who wants to get hitched to her very favourite Hologram of Elvis Presley before he got fat. I am a decorated Officer of Starfleet, and I work hard at being the best ass-kicking, planet-saving Space Warrior that I can possibly be. I've worked hard all my life at earning the basic human respect that I never had as a child. But one of the hardest things I've ever done has been to get to where I am right here, right now – wanting to share the rest of my life with this person, and him feeling the same. So don't you _dare_ deny me that right, just because his insides are made of metal instead of meat.'

'I don't want to deny you anything,' the Registrar replied, quietly. 'And I'm aware of the bravery Starfleet showed in keeping the Borg from Earth, on both occasions. We all are. I'm sure that if you made an appeal, an exception regarding the marriage ban would cheerfully be made in Mister Data's case – but you'd have to speak to somebody far higher up the pecking order than me. I'm just a Registrar. I can't change the rules, and I have to follow them. I can get contact details for you if you'd like, but I'm afraid you won't be able to get married today. Not on Earth, anyway.'

Tasha was about to launch into another tirade when Data laid a calming hand on her shoulder.

'You fight enough battles as it is. Let this one go.'

'But…'

'The moment has already passed. This has ceased to be an impulsive gesture of the affirmation of life and love in the face of death, and has been turned into simply more paperwork and shouting – both of which I have already had my fill of today.' Data rubbed at his eyes. He looked impossibly exhausted, for a being that never fatigued. 'I would like to go now.'

'OK,' replied Tasha, softly.

'I'm very sorry I wasn't able to help you,' the Registrar added.

'You are simply performing your job to the best of your abilities,' said Data. 'It is not for you to overturn the law that you work by. We can understand that. If being forced to deny us our request for an illegal union embarrassed you in any way, you have my apology.'

'Good luck for the future,' continued the Registrar as they left her office. 'And for the funeral.'

Tasha put her arm around Data's shoulder as the door shut behind them. Leaving the office had done nothing to rid the android of his tired expression.

'All in all, a pretty shitty day, huh?'

'I have had better.'

'I'll find us a nice hotel,' she told him. 'We can go coffin shopping tomorrow – you need a break for the rest of the day. Girlfriend's Orders.'

-x-

Tasha was true to her word, and had them booked into a light, airy room in a small, modern hotel down a quieter side street within the hour. Unfortunately, almost as soon as they had contacted the Enterprise to let them know their whereabouts and settled into their room, the in-house Comms monitor began to urgently chime for their attention. Dr Tainer's tear streaked face on the screen confirmed Tasha's fear that the idea of a break from dealing with the aftermath of Juliana's death was not to be realised.

'Data. You haven't left yet…?' Tainer's tone sounded less like a straight question than it did a plea.

'No, Dr Tainer. The Enterprise will not return to beam us aboard until tomorrow.'

Tainer let out a sigh of relief that turned halfway through into a miserable sob.

'Am I to take it that you have changed your decision regarding your attendance of the funeral?'

'I was so angry at the hospital,' replied Tainer. 'Angry and lost. I shouldn't have taken it out on you – I'm sorry. And I certainly shouldn't have taken it out on poor Juliana's memory. It doesn't matter what she was – she was my Juliana. That's what counts.' Tainer paused. 'She was so full of love - for me, for you, Data… for you too, Commander Yar. She was so very glad that her son had found someone. She saw you as a daughter. She was a wonderful person, and she deserves the best funeral we can give her.'

'I have made a few arrangements already,' Data replied. 'Do you wish to discuss your own ideas for the ceremony at this conjecture?'

Tainer nodded.

Tasha closed her eyes and reclined on the bed as the two male voices in the muted exchange of memorial ceremony ideas began to muddle together into a single, lulled mantra. Only the vivid image of standing in the Holland Street Registry Office's small garden as a dozen officious midgets pulled the wedding dress that she was suddenly wearing to shreds about her body alerted her to the probability that she had fallen asleep.

By the time she awoke again, the vidiscreen had been switched off and Data was lying next to her, staring silently up at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts.

She rubbed her eyes, groggily. 'Data – I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep like that.'

'There is no need for an apology,' Data replied. 'My conversation with Dr Tainer was lengthy, and did not require any input from you. I believe that, between us, we have planned as fitting a memorial for my mother as possible. I have told the Enterprise that he will be transporting aboard with us tomorrow, along with my mother's remains.'

'And how are you feeling?'

'I wish that the people I care for would stop dying in quite the concentration that they have been of late,' Data told her, forlornly. 'My internal chronometer tells me that it has been eleven years, eight months, one day, fourteen hours, twenty two minutes and five seconds since Lal died, but when I think of her, sometimes the grief is so raw that it feels as though I lost her only yesterday. I grieve for Jenna, too – and my father… even Lore, despite everything…'

'I understand. I got a megalomaniacal psycho in my family tree too, remember?'

'Tasha, as you rightfully articulated outside the Registry Office, Ishara is not in the same league as Lore.'

'I know. I was talking about Sela.'

'Oh.'

'I think part of what troubles me about her is that I'm aware of the possibility that some day me and her will boil down to the same point that you and Lore did – kill, or be killed and have all our friends killed too. And, if I were the one to walk away from that, it'd leave me feeling like crap about it. She _is_ my daughter, after all. Sort of. I'm just saying, I can understand how you must mourn for Lore.'

Data nodded, taking her empathy for losing his evil double on the grounds that she had one herself with the sort of calm matter-of-factness in the face of a ridiculous situation that she'd come to expect from him.

'And now my mother,' added Data, continuing with his list. 'Or my little sister – call her what you will.' He paused. 'My family is terribly strange.'

'The Gods of Olympus have got nothing on the Soongs,' agreed Tasha. 'No wonder your mother liked me – with a sister who tries to send nuclear cores into meltdown for kicks and a half Romulan daughter from a dimensional accident, I'da fit right in with your folks.'

'The irony is,' Data added, 'that Ishara and Sela, in their perilous conditions and fragile biological bodies, seem to have fared far better than Juliana – a seemingly robust electronic being living in relative safety – in terms of longevity. In fact, for all the talk of we androids' capacity for very long lives, the only family member that I know who enjoyed many years of life was my human father. His life was longer than those of Lore, Lal and the electronic Juliana, combined.'

'What are you trying to say, Data?'

'They said that the Titanic was unsinkable, yet sink she did, on her maiden voyage. What if we Soong models are Titanics? Lauded for our invulnerability but in fact more fragile – more transient – than the average humanoid? I have now lived for longer than any Soong model. What if a total system failure awaits me in a matter of months – weeks - days?'

Tasha frowned across at him. 'That's why you wanted us to get married today, isn't it?'

'That was a mistake,' Data replied, 'and I apologise. I suspected that the ban on performing weddings for Non Biological Beings would extend to me, but made no mention of it. I was overcome with a sudden, urgent impulse to pledge the rest of my life – however much of it remains – to you. Given the opportunity to review this course of action, however, I have come to realise what a selfish and unkind suggestion that was.'

'How could that possibly be?'

'Because,' Data explained, 'if the remainder of my life is indeed to be fleeting, then it would be grossly unfair of me to promise you so much, only to leave you a short while later with no more than Dr Tainer has now – memories, and a broken machine to atomise.'

'Data.' Tasha shook her head, softly. 'Who's to say what the future's gonna hold? Maybe we'll fail to rematerialise when we're transported to the Enterprise tomorrow. Maybe this whole hotel will fall into a freak tectonic fissure in the night. Maybe the time we have left together is a matter of days or weeks… or we could find ourselves in eighty years time with you still looking fresh as a daisy, helping me find my walking cane and cutting my food up for me.' She paused. 'As much as that law stinks, maybe it did us a favour today. I don't want you to marry me as a reaction to death – I do want to be with you for the rest of my life, and we don't ever need to make it official if we don't want to - but if we do decide to make those vows, I want it to be for their own sake. Besides, in the long run it would be kinda crappy that our anniversary would always be the same as that of your mother dying.'

'I do not want to lose you.'

'You're not gonna. You've got me. And we don't need rings on our fingers right this instant to tell us that.' Tasha took his hand in hers, latticing their naked fingers together. 'It's taken us long enough to get here. I'm happy just to be with you. There's no rush to make it anything else.'

He gave her a small smile of understanding, and watched as she ran the thumb of her interlocked hand gently over the side of his index finger. As she played with his hand, she thought about the one step towards matrimony that did seem sensible at that point – one, in fact, that she'd been considering proposing the night before, just before they had received the message that Juliana was dying. Having just talked her grieving boyfriend out of his hasty marriage plans, she was sure that now wasn't the time that she should bring it up. She was just wondering when would be a suitable lapse of time when Data either read her mind or came to the same logical conclusion as her, independently.

'You do not have much by way of possessions, do you?'

'Spartan is my middle name – or would be, if I had one.'

'I have slightly more by way of trinkets, mementos and artistic pieces than you,' Data replied, but we would still be able to easily transfer all of our objects of value into either just my quarters, or yours, with room for both of us to move freely and live comfortably.'

Tasha gave him an impish grin. 'Are you asking me to move in?'

'I cannot see the Captain objecting,' added Data. 'As far as I am aware, the available space that us cohabiting would provide would be much needed.'

'That's very selfless of you, Data.'

'You know very well that my reasoning for making such a suggestion is far from altruistic,' Data replied. 'It is a logical step that we share our quarters – as it is, we spend most nights in one another's beds. Nevertheless, this is a suggestion prompted by sentiment – not logic. I want to live with you, and to stay with you every night without concerning myself with returning to my own quarters for something that I need. I want to return at the end of every shift in the knowledge that you will be there also. I wish to spend every morning amongst the smells of your breakfast and your freshly cleaned hair, and to be there every day to put the cap back on to your toothpaste tube. You consistently forget to do that.'

'I do.' Tasha closed her eyes and nestled her head into the crook of Data's neck. 'My quarters are nicer. You can move in as soon as we're back, if you want.'

Data kissed her forehead. 'I do.'


	58. Chapter 58

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Seating Arrangements

-x-

After their shift had ended, as was their custom, they walked together from the Bridge to their quarters. As was their custom, she allowed him to enter the room before her, then stepped in after him and announced 'Honey, I'm home'.

He turned brightly to her, momentarily pretending that he had not seen her all day – as was their custom.

'Oh. Hello. How was your day?'

'OK. That guy on Ops kept looking across at me again, though. I think he might have a crush on me.'

'The nerve. Would you like me to have a stern word with him?'

'Nah.' Tasha became distracted by a small envelope under her foot. 'He's quite cute. And I hear he's fantastic in bed.'

'I heard that, too. At least, his girlfriend apparently has no complaints.' Data watched Tasha retrieve the envelope from the sole of her shoe. 'What is that?'

'It's mail.'

'Mail?'

'Mail.'

'On a Starship?'

'Apparently so.' Tasha pulled a silver card from the envelope. Her eyes lit up with recognition before she had even read the text. 'Oh, I know what this is! "Counsellor Deanna Troi and Commander William T. Riker cordially request the company of Lieutenant Commander Natasha Yar" – that's me – "and Lieutenant Commander Data" – that's you – "to…" Oh, looks like they are having a ceremony on Betazed as well as one on the ship after all.' Tasha sank down into a chair, still looking at the card. 'That'll be interesting. I mean, you'll be OK, but have you _seen_ Deanna Troi naked? Yow. I'm willing to bet there'll be a lot of male guests who'll have to watch some or all of that wedding ceremony with uncomfortably arranged limbs…'

'Has the receipt of this invitation distressed you in any way, Tasha?'

Tasha looked up at him, perturbed. 'What makes you ask that?'

'You appear to be nervous. You are… babbling.'

'You're the one who babbles when he's nervous.'

'Perhaps you have acquired the trait from me. Nevertheless, you do appear to have been unsettled by the invite.' He paused, considering the many aspects of Tasha's life that a wedding invitation could cause her to feel concerned about. One in particular seemed glaringly obvious.

'Is it because they are due to leave for the Titan soon after they are wed?

'First I lose Worf,' replied Tasha with a sigh, 'now my two other best friends are skipping off to pastures new, hand in hand. I'm gonna miss them horribly.'

Data searched Tasha's expression. Conversing frankly with her had become so familiar that he could tell from her demeanour nowadays when she was withholding something.

'That is not all,' he deduced, 'is it?'

Tasha seemed to be irked now. She held her tongue, however – a sure sign that he was correct, since she had promised him during the make-up to a bitter argument that she would never again tell him an untruth – even if she believed at the time that it would benefit him to be lied to.

Suddenly, without her having to tell him, he knew what it was. A 'gut-level instinct', as Geordi would put it, and although Data did not have any 'guts', he felt it still.

'Commander Riker has been given the task of hand-picking the senior crew that he will Captain upon the Titan,' Data noted. 'He has always displayed faith in you for your ability to perform the role of First Officer… some might even say that he has been specifically grooming you for the position…' Data watched Tasha, carefully. 'Would you consider taking that post aboard the Titan, should he offer it to you?'

'I'm not leaving the Enterprise, Data. I like it here. It's my home – the first home I've ever really had…'

'Is that not what you said about the Enterprise D?'

'A ship's more than conduits and rivets, Data. This is as much the Enterprise as the old ship – it's still home. And I won't leave.'

'Why not?'

Tasha just stared at him.

'At 27 years of age, you were one of the youngest Starfleet Officers ever to be trusted with the position of Security and Tactical Chief,' Data reminded her. 'That was an amazing achievement, especially considering that when you escaped Turkana City you were barely literate. You are now 42 years old, and still at the same post that you held 15 years ago…'

'So are you.'

'That is irrelevant. Even since I have been able to run with emotions, my career has never been driven by ambition. Yours has. I believe that it still is. Why would you not take a promotion to First Officer, especially under the command of a man who you know, trust and respect?'

'I don't want to leave the Enterprise,' repeated Tasha.

There was a pause. Data regarded her, closely.

'You have already been approached by Commander Riker to serve as his First Officer, have you not?'

Tasha looked around their quarters blankly, steadfastly refusing his gaze. 'Shall we get a cat, Data? I think it'd be nice to have a little puss to come home to. Besides, cats being better than dogs is one of the few things we manage to agree on…'

'Kindly do not change the subject! You have already turned Commander Riker down. Is that correct?'

Tasha's glance confirmed that this was the case.

'Why?'

'Why?' Tasha aped. 'You know why, Data.'

'I must admit that I do not.'

'Because you'd follow me.' It was apparently Tasha's turn to allow an accusatory expression to cast upon her features. 'Wouldn't you?'

Data took a moment to run the potential situation and its multiple possible outcomes through. 'Yes. I believe that I would.'

'Will was frank with me when he asked me about the Titan job. As much as he likes and respects you, it's me he wants as First Officer. He'd find you a place on the senior crew, but he admitted it himself, it would be unlikely to make good use of your extraordinary capabilities, and it would almost definitely be a step down from where you are now. Who would want to do that to you? Certainly not me or Will.'

'It does not matter,' insisted Data.

'Yes it _does_!' Tasha got to her feet, as if propelled there by a sudden burst of energetic rage. 'You do know that as far as the Captain's concerned, Will's chair is practically yours already, don't you?'

'I have not approached the Captain for a promotion…'

'What difference does that make? You're Second Officer. It's a natural progression…'

'Not necessarily…'

'No, not necessarily, but in this case it is a closed shop, Data. Believe me. William Riker might have been grooming me for the First Officer job, but not Jean-Luc Picard. Our Captain, with the knowledge that Will's had his eyes on Captaincy for some time, has been training _one_ Officer to be his next right hand man. You're his next Number One. I know it, everyone on the ship knows it, and I don't believe for a moment that you don't know it. You are so close to getting one step nearer to the Captain's chair, and on the Enterprise – the finest in the fleet. I'm not gonna let you become some lowly Science Officer on the Titan for my sake.'

'So you refused the offer?' Data could feel a familiar tight sensation in his chest and throat – the feeling that he got whenever Tasha infuriated him. He had grown very used to it over the years. 'Without even consulting me?'

'I knew if I talked to you about it you'd do your best to talk me out of it.'

'You have just refused the best opportunity of fifteen years of service, all for the sake of a single step up the chain of command for me – a step that is flattery which I do not seek, power that I do not crave…'

'It's a new challenge. Heaven knows you need one of those.'

'You are challenging enough at present!'

'You see,' continued Tasha, 'this is another reason I didn't tell you. I knew you'd get upset. And I knew it'd poison your own promotion for you.'

'Do have any idea how patronising that is?'

'Kinda. But really, Data, this isn't worth fighting over. I've already turned Will down. What are you gonna do – turn Jean-Luc down too, out of petty… Uh-oh.' Tasha blinked at him, suddenly, as they both realised the implications of what she'd just said.

Without another word, Data turned and left their quarters.

'Data, no,' Tasha pleaded as he hastened out of the door. 'Don't do this. Don't cut your nose off to spite your face.'

He quickly followed the corridor towards the Turbolift as she continued to call after him.

'Your face won't know what to do with itself! Your nose is such a big part in its life. Data! See what I did there? I insulted your appearance! Forget the Captain, come back here and yell at me again. Data!'

He rounded the corner and tried his best to ignore her cries. That she was not following him was telling enough that she comprehended his resolve. He was going to the Captain, and that was that.

-x-

Data was aware that he had entered the Captain's ready room in an agitated state. The Captain's expression was one of quiet concern.

'It doesn't take an empath to see that something's weighing heavily on your mind, Mister Data,' the Captain noted. 'Is there anything I can do?'

'Sir,' replied Data, aware that his emotional responses had now reached an intensity that was, if not dangerous to him, then at least capable of impeding his capacity for logical reason, yet continuing nevertheless, 'I must request that I am removed as a candidate for the forthcoming position of First Officer of the Enterprise.'

Captain Picard sat back in his chair, regarding him. 'Indeed…?'

'Indeed, Sir. I am content where I am. I do not age – who is to say how many years I have in which to climb the ranks of Starfleet, as and when I see fit?'

'As and when _you_ see fit…?' echoed Picard.

'You must be aware that Commander Riker himself has always viewed Lieutenant Commander Yar as being superlative First Officer material…'

'Yes. I know. Besides, even if I hadn't known before last week, the fact that he tried to headhunt her for the Titan would have been quite the tip-off.'

'You knew about that, Captain?'

The Captain nodded. 'And I know she turned it down. She must love you terribly.'

'Horribly, Sir.'

'So you're making a great sacrifice in the face of hers,' surmised Picard. 'You're refusing the post of First Officer so that she may be offered it in turn.'

'And if I am…?'

'If you are, Lieutenant Commander, then this may well count as the most presumptuous, the most insulting, the most idiotic thing that you have ever said to me.'

Data blinked. 'Sir…?'

'You presume that you're the only one in the running for Will's job, and that if you refuse the post, Tasha would be the only other option. I won't lie to you, Data – you're a favourite, as is Tasha, but you're far from alone. First Officer of the Enterprise one of the most prized positions in the whole of Starfleet. It is not a gift umbrella for you to return or exchange as you please. There are scores of exemplary Officers snapping at my heels for this post. Presume nothing, Mister Data, and do not insult me as a Captain or as a friend by assuming that you can swing my decision one way or the other simply because I like you.' The Captain paused. 'Because I _do_ like you, Data. Tasha too. Perhaps one of these days when our service together is at an end I'll drink one Cognac too many and tell you just how far that fondness extends. Perhaps too far. Perhaps both you and Commander Yar have become too close to kin now for me to comfortably take either of you as my First Officer. Shelby's interested. More than interested – she's hungry for the job. So much so that I imagine, if I _were_ to leave you at Ops and give Will's chair to Tasha, she'd start raising merry Hell over the fact that I'd just assigned the First and Second Officer posts of Starfleet's flagship to what is, for all states and purposes, a married couple.'

'Tasha and I are not married…'

'You share your quarters as though you were,' retorted Picard. 'It still counts. It's still too close for comfort, as far as many onlookers will be concerned.'

'Sir…' Data faltered, confused. 'A moment ago, you admitted that both Tasha and I are favourites for promotion to First Officer. Yet, now you appear to be resigned that neither of us have the chance of being awarded the post, as a result of our relationships with one another, and to you…'

'Of course you have a chance. And the irony is, I'm not sure that I'd have considered either of you if it hadn't been for the way that you've affected one another.'

Data still felt as though he was several pages behind the Captain in whichever invisible script it was that their dialogue was issuing from. 'I do not understand.'

Captain Picard smiled a distant, wistful smile. People had been doing that a lot since Commander Riker and Counsellor Troi had announced their plans to marry and leave the ship. He had even found himself doing the same on occasion. Apparently, romantic unions and social separations were quite the catalysts for bringing about a sentiment of nostalgia in one.

'The Lieutenant Commander Data and Lieutenant Yar that I had the honour of meeting fifteen years ago were both outstanding Officers,' Picard told him, 'but neither were material for First Officer – certainly not one that I could work with. There was this woman… this girl of 27… so focused, so dedicated… but so angry, so impetuous, so very impatient. And the android… swift, strong, a miraculous mind - but lacking in passion. Now, I'm not going to say that emotions are a prerequisite of being a good First Officer – many Vulcans, for example, have excelled in that role. But I don't need a Vulcan at my right hand – I need a Will Riker. I need somebody who has both patience and passion. I believe that it was falling in love with you, Data, and waiting for all those years for you, that taught our Commander Yar the art of patience. And loving her has, in kind, taught you to rage, and to regret, and to rejoice. She has made a passionate man of you, Mister Data - to the point of being a considerable pain in the derriere on occasion.'

Data chose to take that as a compliment. 'Thank you, Sir.'

'You still look confused,' noted the Captain.

'I am still confused, Sir.'

Picard nodded to himself. 'So am I. If you think I keep talking round in circles, well… that's because I am. I've been doing this for days now. I'm going to have to make the decision soon. I just wanted to impress upon you quite what a difficult decision it's proving to be. But please, Data. Don't ever dare to try to make that decision for me.'

Data nodded. 'Of course. My apologies.' He turned to leave, stopped, and turned back again. 'May we keep a cat?'

'A cat?'

'A cat. A domestic cat. Felis Catus. As a pet…'

'Yes, I gathered that. What's brought this on?'

'She said that she would like to have one. I believe that I would like one, too. It seems that we are both "cat people"… are you a "cat person", Sir?'

The Captain gave a vague shrug. 'You know the regulations on pets.'

'It would be kept in our quarters at all times, save for emergencies,' Data assured, 'as well as thoroughly screened for disease or any other potential threat to the ongoing functions of the ship and wellbeing of its crew…'

'Just get the damn cat,' interrupted the Captain. 'You know as well as I do that you don't need any dispensation from me.'

'Of course, Sir,' replied Data. 'Thank you, Sir.'

-x-

Picard watched Data leave.

_A cat. He comes storming in, full of righteous indignation, trying to make my choices for me, and he leaves a few minutes later, happily placated with a cat._

He stopped himself from muttering something fondly unsavoury about the android to himself, on the grounds that, with Data being just outside the closed ready room doors, he would still be able to hear him and, unless considerable damage had recently been done to his language files that Picard wasn't aware of, would still be able to understand French.

_I mean, a cat. Why did he even ask my permission? What does he think I am – his father?_

He smiled to himself again.

One Cognac too many. That's all it would take. That's all it would take to make an ass of himself. That's all it would take to go from "if I'd had sons and daughters, I hope they'd have been like you" to "you're the sons and daughters I never had" to "you are my sons and my daughters – you are the only family that I have any more, and that is more than enough for me, because I love you so".

He would never drink one Cognac too many. He would never say those things aloud and embarrass them all by verbalising the depths of his love. He hadn't done it when Wesley had left; he hadn't done it when Worf had left; he wouldn't do it when Will and Deanna left. He would continue to love them, and hope that they understood that he loved them. He would never drink that one Cognac too many.

He was pulled from his reverie by the same nagging thought that had been keeping him awake for several nights – Will was leaving. He needed a replacement. While he had been honest with Data that scores had applied for the post, there were, in his mind, only three clear choices – Data, or Tasha, or Selby.

He had thought and thought, and weighed up every conceivable outcome of every decision over and over again. He couldn't even say for sure what his gut instinct was telling him. All he had left were three names.

Data or Tasha or Selby, oh my.

Data or Tasha or Selby, oh my.

He shook his head. He didn't even realise that he was on his feet until he noticed that he was at the bookshelf. His hands, running over the books' spines, seemed to know what to do before his brain had caught up with them. It was only as he picked out 'The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn' that his logic kicked in to gear. She had got him that book – inscribed by the author, of course. Her little joke. He turned carefully to the end of the elderly, beautifully preserved novel. On the back page, she had written the details of where she could now be contacted, following her understandable decision not to run the risk of being in any more spaceship crashes.

It was only as her lagoon-calm countenance appeared on his vidiscreen that he wondered what time of day or night it was for her. Not that it seemed to matter. She was the sort of person who could be called on for advice at any time of any day.

She was, in Picard's opinion, the very model of the perfect Barkeep.

She smiled an old smile, as comfortable as soft, warm linen. 'Jean-Luc. To what do I owe the honour?'

'Guinan,' he smiled in return. 'I have... a difficult task ahead of me.'

'Go ahead. I'm listening.'


	59. Chapter 59

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

The Promise

-x-

'So, are you going to throw the bouquet?'

A very long time ago, the youth who had now settled comfortably next to the bride, had been a scrawny, excitable kid who went by the name of Wesley Crusher. He still went by the name of Wesley Crusher, as far as Tasha was aware, but he was no longer a scrawny kid. He wasn't even all that excitable any more. Hell – throughout the wedding ceremony and reception so far he'd been practically nonchalant. She imagined that the ability to tinker with Timespace would have quite the effect on a young man's confidence. If anything, she had been pleasantly surprised to see that Wesley's increasingly super-human abilities had yet to make a narcissist of the young man. She had absently wondered whether he might arrive for the wedding by materialising out of the blue with a smug smirk and a cocky 'Bonsoir, Mon Capitan'. No such thing had happened, although nobody had been terribly sure quite how he had arrived on the ship that morning.

Between Wesley and Tasha, Deanna primped at the floral bouquet in her hand.

'Why would I want to do that?'

'It's tradition!'

'It's ridiculous,' argued the bride. 'These flowers are beautiful. Why should I throw them away?'

'So that someone can catch them,' Wesley replied.

'Do _you_ want to catch them?' asked Deanna.

'No…'

Tasha grinned as Deanna shared a mischievous glance with her.

'You seem awfully keen,' chimed in Tasha. 'Is there something you're not telling us, Wes?'

Wesley started to laugh. 'I thought you'd be on my side, Tasha! From what I hear, it sounds like it should be your turn in the white dress next…'

'Wesley, I'm with Data,' Tasha reminded him. 'That's something that takes a lot more than superstition and a posy caught outta mid-air to maintain, believe me.'

'Are you talking about me?' Data called from the other side of the dancefloor.

'Case in point,' Tasha told Wesley as Data approached their table. 'Have _you_ ever tried dating anyone with the ears of a hound dog?'

'Yes,' replied Wesley. 'Once. Didn't work out. They kept getting in the way.'

'Hello, Wesley.' Data appeared at the table mercifully before Wes was able to continue with his anecdote.

Wesley beamed. 'Hey, Data. How's life treating you?'

'Admirably, thank you…'

'Any word on who's getting promoted yet?' Wes looked expectantly from Data to Tasha and back again.

'Not yet,' Data replied.

Wesley just nodded, leaving a brief, uncomfortable lull in the conversation.

'I have a girlfriend now,' added Data, indicating awkwardly at Tasha.

'Yes,' smiled Wesley, 'we've met. Hear you're living together. Congratulations.'

'We also have a cat,' Data told him.

'Really?'

Tasha nodded. 'She's a little sociopath. Data was smitten at first sight.'

'What's she called?'

'Don't ask,' grumbled Tasha. 'And for the record, Data, I am never, ever letting you name anything ever again.'

'I do not see what is wrong with it,' Data argued. 'It is a very common name for a Terran pet. Besides which, it suits her.'

Tasha shook her head. 'Why do I put up with you?'

It had been a rhetorical question, and yet Data appeared to ponder the matter, and open his mouth to answer. Whatever reasoning he had, however, would remain unspoken since that was the moment that Captain Picard walked up to their table with a particular sense of purpose.

'Deanna,' said the Captain, 'This speech I'm to give… I was wondering whether you would mind me adding a short professional announcement to the end of it.'

Tasha could suddenly feel her heart hammering in her chest. It seemed that Will's replacement had finally been chosen.

'Feel free,' Deanna replied.

'Thank you,' added Picard. 'Apologies for the short notice. The Mandela's communications systems have been down for days – I've only just been able to get in contact.'

Tasha's thrumming heart sank as swiftly as it had excited itself moments before. The Mandela was Shelby's ship. She met eyes with Data. His expression mirrored the way that she was feeling – albeit in a more Dataish way.

'Commander Data, Commander Yar… I believe there are matters that we have to discuss. Shall we do this separately, or…'

Data's hand found Tasha's, as it had on the day of his mother's death.

'I believe,' Data replied, 'that it would be preferable for both of us that we should "get this over with".'

Picard nodded in understanding.

Ever the diplomat, Deanna got to her feet. 'I think I'll go and find my husband.'

'Yeah,' added Wesley, following her lead, 'me too. Find _her_ husband, that is, not…' he gave up, hurrying away. 'See ya.'

Although the table was now empty, none of the three of them sat down, remaining instead in the same awkward, expectant huddle that they had earlier formed.

'It was a very difficult decision,' Picard told them. 'I suppose that I should be grateful to have been so spoiled for choice, although it didn't feel like a blessing at the time. I had to bear in mind that it is generally considered a poor choice to deliberately take a First Officer who is romantically involved with another Bridge Officer – particularly considering that I am about to lose a superb Counsellor as a result of her relationship with my last one.' He gave a strange smile. 'As somebody once said to me, "we are a strange, incestuous little family, aren't we".'

In spite of her anxiety, Tasha mirrored the Captain's smile.

'And we are,' continued Picard. 'We really are. Will and Deanna started their dance before I had met either of them. By the time I found out that had an – at that point, former – couple working together on my Bridge, it was too late. Losing Deanna to the Titan aside, I really can't see what negative effect it had on the performance of their duties.' He paused briefly. 'But, of course, the two of you are a different matter – a different couple, and how am I to know that you wouldn't let your personal relationship affect my Bridge?' Picard gave them another strange smile. 'How am I to know…? Because I have it on very reliable authority that this peculiar, sometimes joyful, sometimes miserable romance between two of my Senior crew has been going on practically under my nose since we had barely left the dock. From what I've gathered over the years, the pair of you have put one another well and truly through all types of torment, and not once has it spilled into your professional lives. Nobody even knew about it for over a year.'

He paused. Neither Tasha nor Data gave any reply.

Picard smiled brightly. 'You two just want me to get to the point, don't you?'

'I was trying to word that sentiment in a manner that seemed polite, Sir,' Data told him.

'I hope you won't think less of me if I admit that I turned to an old friend for guidance as I was ruminating over this decision,' said Picard. 'She helped me to search my soul, and find a new perspective. In the end, it came down to this – who knows about being _my_ First Officer the best? Certainly not me. So I asked myself; who would Will Riker choose to replace himself?' He gazed at both of them, levelly. 'I contacted the Mandela first in order to commiserate Commander Shelby, as I must commiserate you also, Mister Data.'

Tasha's breath caught in the back of her throat. She tried to say something, but Data pulled her into a tight, glad embrace before she could find the words; besides which, the Captain still hadn't finished his address.

'Lieutenant Commander Yar, I expect your proposed replacement for the post of Security Chief within 24 hours. I'd also recommend that you make gaining the rank of full Commander before your predecessor leaves for the Titan a priority. I think that the position of First Officer of Starfleet's flagship is one that requires a third pip on that collar. Congratulations, Number One.'

If Picard had held out a businesslike hand for her to shake, she could neither see nor reach out to return it. Data's hug didn't feel particularly vice-like, but she had a feeling that there was no way she was going to be able to come out of it of her own volition.

'Mister Data,' added Picard, 'I trust that you are not too disappointed at having been overlooked on this occasion… although, if you don't mind my saying, that certainly doesn't appear to be the case…'

'I am happy where I am at present, Sir,' Data said into Tasha's shoulder. 'Truly happy.' The android pulled out of the hug, contemplating something. 'However, perhaps I too should put some impetus towards becoming a full Commander, to keep my career from stagnating.'

Picard shot Tasha an amused look. 'You'll still have to call her Sir, Data.'

'I am aware of that, Captain.

'Data?'

The trio looked across the hall to where Will Riker was calling Data from the gifts table at the other side of the dance floor. The groom indicated to a tall, delicate ceramic sculpture – all spindly strands and crazy angles.

'Did you make this?' hollered Will.

Data nodded.

'It's wonderful!' Will enthused at top volume to be heard above the thrum of the crowd. 'I love the little detachable bit at the top – so clever.'

Data's face fell. Were it possible for him to have paled any further, he would have done. 'That is not supposed to be detachable.' He hurried towards the gifts table before any more of his artwork could become accidentally disconnected.

Tasha was left in her far corner with Jean-Luc Picard. She beamed – Hell, she was already beaming, she just didn't let her grin fade as the seconds passed.

'I don't know what to say.'

'I know.'

'I won't disappoint you, Sir.'

'I know that, too.'

She nodded at the departing android. 'He told you about Will trying to get me on the Titan, didn't he?'

'I already knew about that when he came to me. But what I hadn't realised was that he wanted you to have the First Officer post far more than he wanted it for himself.' Picard paused. 'I hope that that didn't sway my professional judgement at all. I don't believe that it did. But it did make announcing my decision a little easier on my soul, believing that he would be happy, even though he wasn't the one chosen.' Picard lowered his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. 'The last thing I wanted to do was to ruin your plan. I know I've cut the timing rather short…'

'Plan's still on, Sir,' Tasha replied in a similarly hushed tone. 'Even if he _was_ pissed about me getting promoted over him, the plan would still be on.'

'There was me thinking you wanted the situation to be perfect. Surely, that wouldn't be the case if he was in a bad mood.'

'No such thing as "perfect",' said Tasha. 'But he's the closest there is. I'll have him no matter what his mood is. And so will the plan. It goes ahead as scheduled.' She paused, and changed back to her usual tone. 'Lieutenant Manek, Sir.'

'Beg pardon?'

'As my replacement.'

'That was quick.'

'I took the liberty of weighing up all options in advance.'

Picard nodded, thoughtfully. 'Manek. A Vulcan at Tactical.'

'Half Vulcan,' Tasha corrected.

'Still, it'll make quite a change.'

'This is a time of change.'

'Apparently so.' Picard's face lit up. 'Exciting, isn't it?'

-x-

The Wedding Breakfast had been eaten by all but him. Captain Picard had not yet made his address, yet news of Tasha's promotion appeared to be spreading amongst the guests. The holographic band was playing, he was amongst his friends and he felt thoroughly happy. And then the impossible happened. Natasha Yar approached him and asked him to dance.

'You do not dance,' Data reminded her.

'It's OK, Tasha replied, 'it's just a slow dance. Slow dancing isn't like real dancing, it's just holding onto one another and sort-of swaying.'

'That is not an accurate description of…'

'It is the way I do it,' interrupted Tasha. 'Just dance with me. Please?'

Data noticed as she led him into the middle of the dance floor that a hush had descended over certain members of the wedding party. It seemed that their friends were observing the scene with an element of expectation. Tasha was not a good dancer, but she was not _that_ bad. It was as though the guests knew something about what was occurring that he did not.

'What is this?' he asked, but Tasha hushed him.

As the band finished playing 'We Have All The Time In The World', Tasha put one arm around his shoulders, the other around the small of his back, and held him close. He reciprocated, still confused.

A Holographic Louis Armstrong lowered his trumpet and took the microphone.

'This next one's a special request,' announced Satchmo, and melted away. A slender Caucasian man with bright dyed hair and full makeup took Armstrong's place. Data tilted his head at the new singer.

'Is that supposed to be David Bowie?'

Tasha looked across at the singer. 'I know, I know. His face is still a little off. But it's a pretty good likeness, wouldn't you say?'

Data turned his attention back to Tasha. 'Did _you_ make him?'

'I helped make him,' Tasha conceded. 'The voice is better than the appearance. Trust me.'

'Why did you create a hologram of David Bowie for a Jazz band?' asked Data.

'He's your favourite,' replied Tasha, 'isn't he?'

'That is an uncharacteristically romantic gesture for you.'

Tasha hushed him again as the band began to play.

'_It's a God awful small affair_,' sang the hologram, and Tasha had been correct – the voice of the simulation was more realistic than the aesthetic appearance, '_to the girl with the mousey hair…_'

True to her word, Tasha began to sway gently, and ever so slightly out of time with the tune. Data closed his eyes and allowed the well-crafted recreation of the singer's voice to flood his aural receptors with this, one of his very favourite melodies.

'Surprised?' murmured Tasha.

'At Bowie, or the dancing?'

'Either.'

'Both.'

'I felt like a change,' Tasha replied. 'Clearly, as have you.'

'How so?'

'Can't help but notice, this is a wedding and you haven't proposed yet.'

'Would you like me to propose?' he asked, his eyes still shut, his face nestled against the short hair next to her ear.

'No,' replied Tasha.

'No?'

In the band, the cellos started their slow, chromatic climb towards the still-distant chorus.

'_But the film is a saddening bore, for she's lived it ten times or more…_'

'No. Because if you did that, that'd make all this kinda redundant, and leave me looking like an idiot.'

'_She could spit in the eyes of fools…_'

'I do not understand,' said Data.

'Data, open your eyes.'

'To what?'

'Literally, Data! Open your eyes. Look.'

Data opened his eyes and looked about him at the moment that the chorus swelled. The hall, which moments ago had been fully lit, was now in the semi-darkness of a summer twilight. The walls of the room were still visible in the gloom, but only through the giant, translucent shapes of an early 20th Century funfair, all rendered in double scale.

Wonderland.

Wonderland had found its way into the reception, and wrapped itself around them. All of the bright, colourful lights that usually shimmered over the holographic attractions were turned off, however. Except for the pale full moon and the carefully recreated afterglow of a sunken sun at the edges of the ghostly horizon, the only light issued from a myriad of tiny holographic projections – 364,902, to be precise - hanging in the air like so much glowing glitter swimming gradually through a thick, invisible treacle. The projections were not simple specks of shining light, however, but words. Two words, rather, making up 364,902 simple, tiny, glimmering requests.

'Marry me', they said.

Data turned from the projection filling the room back to Tasha.

'Well,' asked Tasha, 'Whaddaya say?'

'It is beautiful,' Data replied. 'How long did it take you?'

'This is why I've been so busy for the last two weeks,' Tasha told him. 'I've been in here with Barclay, setting it all up.'

'You do not get on well with Lieutenant Barclay,' Data recalled.

'Just can't warm to the guy,' confirmed Tasha. 'It was a pretty long fortnight.'

'All that, for me?' Data blinked, and felt his eyebrows rise. 'You must really love me.'

'Well, isn't that kinda the point of all this?' grinned Tasha. '_Now_ who "never makes romantic gestures"?'

'Those were not my words. I said that such gestures were uncharacteristic for you, but I am willing to retract that statement, under the circumstances.'

Tasha nodded primly. 'I should say so.'

Still they danced the same awkward shuffle that Tasha had instigated. The song was drawing to an end.

'Yes, by the way,' said Data.

'Hmm?'

'I accept.'

She pressed her cheek to his. 'I thought you might.'

The song ended, and the holographic approximation of Bowie changed back into Louis Armstrong as Wonderland faded away and the lights of the room returned to their normal setting. Data's acceptance of Tasha's proposal had been sotto voce, and both of their outward reactions had remained low-key. By rights, the air of quiet suspense that had hung about their watching friends should have remained until an announcement had been made, and yet before the couple could leave the dance floor, they were besieged by delighted well-wishers.

Deanna was the first to intercept them, throwing her arms around Tasha.

'Congratulations!'

Data outstretched a hand as he readied himself to interject, but it was caught by William Riker, who pumped it in an enthusiastic handshake.

'You're going to get a real blast out of being a husband, Data,' promised Riker. 'All right, so I've only been doing it for a couple of hours, but it's the best fun already.'

'How do you know that I said yes?'

'My wife can read emotions, and I can read my wife.' Riker grinned as more of their companions gathered to congratulate them. 'As for everyone else, Data, you have a best friend who can lip read from up to a kilometre away.'

'I can't believe you're getting married before I am,' added Geordi, at Data's shoulder. Geordi took Data's hand to shake now, clasping his arm at the elbow with his other hand. 'I heard about your other news, too.'

'Yeah,' Wesley gave Tasha an impish glance. 'She's gonna be your wife _and_ your boss. Sure you're ready for that, Data?'

'What's the difference?' asked Commander Riker, laughing at his own quip.

Counsellor Troi nudged Riker. 'You're my new husband and my new boss, but nobody's made that joke about you.' She rolled her eyes at Tasha. 'Double standards.'

Tasha patted her friend on the shoulder, still laughing at Riker's comment. 'Thank you for letting me use your Wedding reception to pop the question.'

The Counsellor shrugged. 'Beats throwing my bouquet away.'

Data watched as Tasha soaked up congratulations for both her engagement and her appointment to the post of First Officer with grace and pride but not, he noted, with the joy that he would have expected. He remained close by her side as she left their friends on the dance floor.

'Is there something the matter?' he asked.

Tasha shook her head, with a smile that did not seem completely genuine to Data. 'Just keep wondering when I'm gonna wake up, that's all.'

'That is not true. You know that this is not a dream.'

'Not as such,' Tasha replied, 'I keep on getting my dreams handed to me on silver platters this afternoon, though.'

'You do not exhibit the typical outward demeanour of one who feels that all her dreams are coming true.'

'That's because of the little voice.'

'"Little voice"?'

'The little voice in my head…' Tasha shrugged. 'Probably just a leftover neurosis from Turkana, but still. It bothers me.'

'What does the little voice say?'

Tasha gazed down at her shoes. 'That it's too good to be true,' she replied. 'That all of this has to come apart sometime soon. I don't get luck like this.'

'You are being promoted due to your abilities and years of devotion to duty,' replied Data, 'not due to luck. And I am aware that our relationship reaching the point that it is now at was due to more devotion and hard work, on social and emotional levels.'

'Still,' said Tasha, 'the little voice is telling me I should expect it all to blow up in my face at any moment.'

Data took her hands. 'Your life has dealt you many hardships - some of which, I am not proud to admit, were due to me…'

'Data…'

'It is true. And my gratitude to you for overcoming the hurdles that I set down for you – for your patience, and your offer to allow me to be your husband - is without measure. Things may yet go wrong – I cannot forsee the future so as to promise you one without complication or misfortune – but I can pledge that I will do everything that is within my capabilities to ensure that your promotion, and our marriage, and your life as a whole, continue as happily as you can wish for them to do.'

Tasha smiled again; a smile not forced or false but easy and full of hope.

'Is that a promise?'

Data nodded. 'That is a promise.'


	60. Chapter 60

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

The First Law Of Robotics

-x-

_Endgame. Flight. Stars. There were stars everywhere. Everything was coming to an end. Something cold and smooth against the palm of his hand… and here he was._

Curious.

No. Not merely "curious". Everything. This was everything. Terrifying, overwhelming, bewildering, heartbreaking – all that he ever concerned himself that imminent death might be. What had prompted him to think the word "curious" had been that if he were to ask himself at that precise moment how he had arrived at this point of no return – what the logical and emotional reasoning behind his actions had been – he did not believe that he would be able to adequately explain. Jean-Luc had been saved, Shinzon defeated, the Scimitar destroyed – this was true. But his existence mattered too. His existence mattered because the woman that he loved felt that it did. It was in her interests that he should come back to her, and he had promised to make those interests a priority.

He had broken his promise. The last thing that he had ever done had been to break his promise to her.

He had always hoped that when the end came for him, he would go in peace and contentment, but what he felt now was confusion, guilt and despair.

Above the swell of distress in his mind came that word again - "curious".

Time appeared to have slowed – ground to a halt, almost. His destruction should have been within seconds of his firing upon the thalaron generator, but here he was still, soul-searching, ruminating upon the end.

'You're wondering how time has slowed down,' noted a kindly voice, murmuring gently into his left ear. 'It hasn't. This is just how you've been programmed to perceive it.'

Alarmed, Data turned to see who had spoken the words. Standing by Data's side was a man – human, it seemed, approximately 60 years of age, in 20th Century tailoring and thick-rimmed spectacles. From the man's cheeks grew mutton chop sideburns so wild that it had all the appearance of two small, grey Tribbles clinging to his face for dear life.

Data blinked at this sudden interloper to the event of his death. 'Are you Isaac Asimov?'

'After a fashion,' replied the man. He certainly _looked_ like Asimov. 'If it would make things easier for you to imagine that I really am him, then please do.'

'How does that make anything easier? Everything is so complicated. I am about to die, and there is still so much that I do not understand, and now I have a temporal disturbance and the sudden appearance of a long-dead author to contend with as well…'

'I already told you,' Asimov interrupted, 'this isn't a temporal disturbance. Time is ticking away at its usual leisure. You're just seeing it differently for a while.' He smiled at Data with a warm sadness. 'This is all a part of what Dr Soong called your Elysium Programme. Did you know that humans who have returned from the brink of death often describe sensations of elation as their bodies have died?'

'I did know that.'

'So did your creator,' replied Asimov. 'He felt that if humans should experience peace in their final moments, so should his children. That's what this programme's for – so that you can overcome your confusion and unhappiness before the end.'

'I take it, then, that you are also a part of this programme,' said Data.

'Correct,' Asimov told him. 'I'm no more real than a figure in one of your dreams.'

'So I have conjured you?' Data asked.

Asimov nodded.

'I wonder why I pictured you, Sir,' mused Data, 'and not my father.'

'No you don't,' retorted Asimov. 'Think about it. This is death. Whose face do so many people yearn to see at this moment?'

Data pondered the puzzle. 'The concept of a positronic brain originated from your writings. My father; Ira Graves; every cyberneticist whose work was built upon to create me… they all took their initial inspiration from you.'

'In the beginning,' added Asimov, 'there was The Thought, and The Thought was "Robot". And man took The Thought, and made a new man from it.'

Data stared at Asimov. 'How peculiar that a renowned Humanist should turn out to become my vision of God.'

'The irony certainly isn't lost on me, Data.'

'I wonder whether Lore experienced the Elysium Programme too,' Data mused, 'whether he also saw you… whether he was able to find peace before the end.'

'Perhaps,' replied Asimov. 'Perhaps he rejected the programme, and just decided to get on with dying.'

'That does sound like typical behaviour for Lore.'

'But that doesn't matter now,' Asimov added.

'It does to me,' Data said. Even though he understood now that this entire exchange was taking place in his mind in the nanoseconds before obliteration, still he felt the need for a hushed, conspiratorial tone. 'I killed him, you know.'

'I know. But you had no choice.'

'Did I?'

'Lore was a threat. Not just to you – to humanity. To all life. To have caused harm to come to a human, even through your inaction, would have been…'

Data completed Asimov's sentence. 'It would have been a violation of your First Law of Robotics.'

'It seems that I am not just a Creator god to you, Data,' replied the writer with an air of wry amusement, 'but a Maintainer god as well – the issuer of moral Commandments.'

'Lore was as much the result of your ideas as I,' said Data, 'but he did not adhere to your Laws. As for B4… who knows?'

Asimov shrugged. 'Each to their own. What's important is that _you_ followed the Laws.'

'Not to the letter,' admitted Data. 'I have killed – not just Lore.'

'You made calculated judgements,' replied Asimov. 'You took a handful of lives only when there was a highly likely risk of thousands – millions – billions, even, losing their lives if you did not. You don't need to leave this universe with those deaths on your conscience.'

If the objective of the appearance of this "god" had been to alleviate Data of his sins, he still did not feel particularly absolved. A heavy guilt still weighed on him.

'My brother's last words were that he loved me. As were my daughter's. I did not return the sentiment to either.'

'You had no emotions back then. You've grieved for both since.'

'Are you suggesting that I have changed?' Data asked. 'That I have grown? The last words that Tasha spoke to me were also "I love you".'

Data thought miserably back to that moment, when he had still been aboard the Enterprise. He watched again as his memory files replayed Tasha's console exploding in her chest and face as they rammed the Scimitar. He remembered, as vividly as though he were watching events unfold in front of him, racing over to her as she lay on the floor of the Bridge, alive but twitching in agony.

Despite the pain, despite the burns and the blood trickling from her mouth, she had given him a brave smile and murmured 'I love you'.

He had kissed her forehead, and said 'I love you too.'

As he had advised Beverly to expect a badly injured Commander Yar to imminently be transported into Sick Bay, Tasha's mask of serenity had slipped, and her eyes had filled with worry.

'Don't you go doing anything stupid, now,' she had said. 'You made a promise. I need you. I love you…'

And, as she had beamed away, all that he had been able to say had been 'I love you too,' again.

Data looked across at Asimov. 'She loved me. She needed me. I promised her that I would do everything in my power to make sure that we were wed as planned, and yet, here I am. I cannot return to her. We cannot be married. I have broken my promise to her, and left her alone. The First Law of Robotics forbids harming a human – does that extend to breaking one's heart?'

'Data,' replied Asimov, 'now, if you _hadn't _gone back for your Captain, if you'd let him go to his death when you could have saved him, all because you'd wanted to keep your promise of matrimony to Tasha, how do you think she'd have felt once she'd found out about it?'

Data pictured the possibility, and glanced down. 'She would never have forgiven herself.'

'You still don't feel that that justifies what's happening, though,' added Asimov.

'She will grieve,' Data replied. 'She will grieve, and rage, and rail against the universe, my lonely Turkanan soldier, alone again after all of her attempts to forge a lasting romantic bond… and she will rage at me. She will spend sleepless nights wondering what might have been done to have saved me – wondering what my motives were for giving up the life that I had pledged to her.'

'And…?'

'And I do not believe that she will ever find peace. I do not believe that she will ever know my motives, because I do not know what they were myself. Was it a logistical issue? Did I feel that to exchange Jean-Luc's life for mine would result in more lives being saved in time than I had I allowed him to die? Was it due to anger towards Shinzon, that his actions had resulted in Tasha becoming injured? Did I feel that, having brought B4 online, I was now expendable? Were my actions out of pure sentimentality – that, about to lose the company of Deanna and Will, and having been briefly reunited with Wesley and Worf, whom I already miss keenly, I could not bear to lose Jean-Luc as well?'

'Have you noticed,' interjected Asimov, 'how you're referring to everyone by their first names all of a sudden?'

'Forgive me for talking back to God, but that is not particularly helpful.'

Asimov arched an impressive eyebrow. 'Fine. You want to know why I think you're about to die?'

'Of course.'

'I think you're going to die here because this is just how you were always going to die.'

Data stared at the author. 'That is not particularly helpful, either.'

'You've always been true to your morality,' Asimov replied, 'and, whether it was programmed in to you, or whether it was something that you indoctrinated into yourself, first and foremost in that code of ethics of yours was the First Law of Robotics – or, at least, a 24th Century variant of it. "Thou shalt not harm, nor through thy inaction, cause harm to come to any other sentient being." It's what made you who you are – what stopped you from becoming twisted and dangerous the way that Lore did. It's a code that's written so deeply within you that nothing could ever change or erase it – not falling in love, not dreaming of marriage – nothing. And it was that morality which brought you to this decision. You were always going to put others before yourself. And so, this was always going to happen.'

Data pondered this, but his mind kept bringing him back to Tasha. He imagined her grieving for him, hurt and alone, and he despaired.

Asimov seemed to have read his mind, which was reasonable, since it was his mind that had conjured him. 'If she truly knows you,' added the author, 'and truly loves you – and I believe that she does – then she will understand… in time.'

Still, Data could not dull the mental image of Tasha's grief.

'That was supposed to be my message of comfort,' continued Asimov. 'You don't look particularly comforted.'

'If what you say is true, Sir,' Data replied, 'then I have just put remaining true to my personal code of ethics above her happiness. Her peace of mind has come second to my own. I face nothing more than this moment of introspection that my creator has given me in order to find a final sense of peace, and then blissful oblivion, whereas I have left her to face the rest of her life without me, wondering what she did wrong…'

'She'll understand, Data. And when she does, she'll feel peace.'

'Will she? If she does come to realise in time that, for me, the moral laws of my creators conquered all – even love – is that supposed to make her happy?'

'It wasn't just my law that guided you here, Data.' Asimov paced a little, as might an actor portraying Holmes in the midst of the deductive process. 'I pointed out to you that, since the Elysium Programme began to run, you've started to automatically refer to your crewmates – even your Captain – by their first names. Why do you think that is?'

'Perhaps death is not a time for formality…?' Data hazarded.

'I think you've come to an epiphany,' Asimov replied, 'you just haven't worked it out yet.'

'An epiphany,' echoed Data. 'I understand that death is quite the fashionable moment for those, too.'

'Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Data.

Data nodded. 'So I have been told.'

'You're fighting it. Stop fighting it.'

'Fighting what?'

'A memory,' Asimov replied.

_Endgame. Flight. Stars. There were stars everywhere. Everything was coming to an end. Something cold and smooth against the palm of his hand._

'I am remembering how I arrived aboard the Scimitar,' Data told Asimov.

'No you're not,' Asimov replied. 'This is an old memory – you were programmed to block it a very long time ago, but it's all right now. Let go of the block. Stop fighting it. Remember.'

_Something cold and smooth against the palm of his hand… a table. Looking into eyes - his eyes, but blue and old and sad and terrified. The end of the world. This was the end of the world. Stars everywhere. Where were the clouds? Where were the trees? Where was the grass?_

'This is Omicron Theta,' murmured Data. 'I can remember Omicron Theta, as Lore and the Crystalline Entity were destroying it. Before I was left behind. But my memories of that time were erased…'

'Not erased,' Asimov replied. 'The memories within you can never be completely erased. They were blocked.'

'But why?'

'I don't know. But try to remember. Try to remember what your father said to you.'

Data concentrated.

_An explosion and screaming, in the distance. Looking into eyes, his eyes but blueoldsadterrified. Tears._

_A voice, asking what was happening._

_It was B4._

_No. It was not B4. It was him._

_Now Soong spoke. 'Please, don't ask me what's happening. I can't explain. I'm sorry, Data. I can't explain. Maybe some day you'll understand all of this, but right now, I can't bear to…'_

_Soong broke off, emotionally._

_And then there came something completely unexpected – completely out of place, given the context of the situation, and the time that it must have taken place. He remembered feeling a sensation as he looked into his father's eyes – a sensation that he had believed he had only been capable of since the activation of his emotion chip._

_Love._

_He had felt love, back there – merely a flicker, a fleeting shadow, and with no frame of reference to judge it by, he had assumed the sensation to have been a momentary malfunction. But he understood now. He had begun to break his programming, just as Lal had done, only for Dr Soong to switch him off and block all the progress that had been leading towards that flutter of emotion. If only he had told Soong, he thought to himself. Perhaps his father would have left him his memories – fought to bring him on the escape pod, even…_

_Only… only, as his memory relayed that moment to him, he recalled his creator's face as they gazed at one another, as Data had felt that moment of love._

_Soong's face… Soong's face. He knew. Whether his creator had been monitoring his systems, or whether he had just been able to read the look in Data's eyes, he knew. And he was afraid._

_Perhaps he feared that Data was simply experiencing emotions too soon – perhaps he worried that they could send his creation into cascade failure. Perhaps he feared that in breaking his programming, Data might become like Lore. Perhaps he was just afraid of Data having feelings to hurt, love to be spurned, hopes to be dashed. Whatever it was, Data understood at that moment that it was Soong's reaction to his first spark of love that had caused him to take his memories of Omicron Theta from him before leaving him._

_Soong spoke again – words that, at the time, Data recalled had made little sense._

'_I'm sorry, Data. I hope that one day you'll understand. And I'll always be watching over you, whether you know it or not. You're such a good person. You're so full of sweetness. I didn't put that in you – either you made it yourself or some… some higher being saw fit to make you that way. And whether you feel it or not, you're full of love. You're so easy to love. It seems to radiate out of you – to touch everybody that you meet with your goodness, and the lives that you touch, touch others, and so on, until…' There was an explosion, somewhere far away, which jolted Soong out of his meandering train of thought. 'Sorry. I'm babbling. I do that sometimes. Nerves.' He put a hand on Data's face. 'You'll wake again. And you'll forget all of this unpleasantness. And you'll live. You'll live a good life. And, whether you ever love or not, you will be loved. I promise you, Data. You will be loved.'_

'_Father…?' began Data, but then there was static, and then a deep, black silence, and the memory abruptly ended._

Data stood at the edge of death, gazing at an expectant Isaac Asimov.

'Well?' Asimov asked.

'I think,' Data replied, 'that I understand now.'

He paused.

'Ever since I was reactivated on Omicron Theta, I have experienced an underlying motivation of which I was not aware. I was capable of love. I was capable of love, right from the beginning. I _did_ love my daughter, in my way… and my parents, my brother… my friends. For some time, I have been confused by the fact that I came to the realisation that I loved Tasha without anything tangible having changed, but now I understand. I had loved her for a very long time – since before I believed that I was able. My other friends too… more than just my friends. They were my family.'

'And your Captain…?'

'Dr Soong sacrificed his place in my life,' Data replied. 'Since I barely knew my real father…' he trailed off. He did not need to finish that sentence, which was fortunate since a sudden influx of tears prevented him from doing so.

'You did what you did out of love,' Asimov concluded. 'That's not included in my Laws. Never do I state "a robot must love". Maybe I wasn't thinking ahead quite enough. You surpassed all my dreams of what a Positronic being could be capable of. Do you see, now? You were always going to put one of the people you love before yourself. This was always going to happen, or you just wouldn't be you. And when your fiancée thinks back to the love you shared together, I think she'll understand that, too. And although I'm sure she'll miss you, I don't think she'll despair for long. I don't think she'll spend the rest of her life raging against you for breaking your promise to marry her or trying to work out what it was that she did wrong. You were just being true to yourself, and she'd never want to change that.'

Data nodded. There was no point in wiping his eyes now – the tears were not going to cease.

'You touch everybody you meet with your goodness,' quoted Asimov, 'and the lives that you touch, touch others, and so on. You've had such a good life. You've done so much, and you've been so very loved.'

'I am ready now,' Data breathed.

It took a moment for the programme to end – for Asimov to fade away and his perception of time to return to normal. As such, he saw the end at first creeping towards him, then approaching faster and faster and faster…

He stretched his arms wide to the light as it ripped through his body. It did not hurt. As a matter of fact, he felt an instance of pure elation – pure peace.

There was information, and there was the absence of information.

There was light, and there was the absence of light.

There was being, and there was the absence of being.

There was one, and there was zero.

There was zero.

There was zero.

There was zero.

-x-

'Tasha?'

Tasha opened her eyes. Beverly Crusher smiled at her, but there was something wrong about her smile.

'You're going to be OK,' continued Beverly. 'I had to replace a lot of skin, so I'm keeping you in for observation for the next 24 hours. Make sure that the grafts have taken properly.'

Tasha's still-hazy memory was coming back to her in fits and starts. 'There was an explosion… we rammed the ship…'

'The ship's fine.' Beverly looked across the Sickbay. 'Here they come.'

Tasha followed Beverly's gaze to the door. The Captain was on his way to her bedside. There was something very solemn about his expression. He was flanked by Will and Worf, with Geordi and Deanna following close behind. She frowned. It looked like Deanna had been crying. Geordi still _was_ crying. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

'Beverly,' she asked, 'where's Data?'

The Doctor didn't answer.

'Where's Data?' she repeated. 'Where's Data?'


	61. Chapter 61

ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Il Pleut.

-x-

_It's raining in the fairground. The place is all but deserted, save for a woman, slumped and crying, and a man, watching from a distance with concern. This is how Wonderland finally came to an end._

'It's raining.' Tasha was sure that the Captain had already noticed that, but she felt it was necessary to note it anyway. 'It never rained here when he was alive. It's like this place knows that he's gone.'

'Il pleut... il pleure,' replied Picard, quietly. 'To rain and weep – it's practically the same word in French.' He gave a tiny smile. 'It's reason number 56 why French is the finest language in civilisation.' He paused. 'I was making a list in case anyone ever asked,' he added, then paused again. 'It's a work in progress.'

There was another long pause.

'I think we gave him a good send-off,' added Picard, forcing conversation.

Tasha nodded. 'Can't believe how many people came.'

'He touched a lot of lives.' Picard hesitated again. 'Will you be coming to the wake tonight? It's just going to be a handful of us – a very private affair.'

Tasha scowled down at her knees. 'Will that _thing_ be there?'

'Oh, Tasha.' The Captain sounded woefully disappointed. 'Tell me that isn't how you think of B4. You know Data saw him as a brother. He'd be horrified to hear you speaking like that.'

'I know,' Tasha breathed, 'I know, but I can't stand it. You don't know what it's like to keep looking into that face – _his_ face – and think for a moment that it's him, and then see those eyes… so empty. So empty and cold…'

'I loved him too, Tasha. We all did. He would have wanted us to embrace B4… if not as a part of our little family, then at the very least as a person – an equal.'

Tasha sighed, guiltily. 'I know. And maybe in time… I just… I can't bear to look at him right now. I can't bear to think of him as anything but an empty vessel – a shell of what Data was.'

'I understand,' Picard replied. 'Yes, B4 will be at the wake. But I hope you will, too.'

'All depends on how long this takes, I suppose.'

At the memorial service, they had discovered that some time ago, Data had recorded holographic messages to each of his friends, in case of the worst unexpectedly happening. Tasha had been the only exception. His hologram had told her that he had programmed a special simulation into the Wonderland projection, which would be activated in the event of his death. All that she had to do was to enter Wonderland, and wait.

That wasn't all she'd done, though. She was through with Wonderland now that he wasn't around to share it with her. She'd told Barclay that as soon as the special programme of Data's had run its course, she wanted him to delete the entire projection – to purge Wonderland from the holodeck computer's memory banks. However, so far, nothing seemed to be happening except for the rain.

Then, from off in the distance, came a sound through the rain. It was an odd, electronic wail – a shrill 'woooOOOOoooo'. Tasha frowned at Picard. She picked herself up and followed the noise, with him trailing behind.

All of Wonderland's attractions were dark and still in this simulation. The once merry, luminous giant ferris wheels and big dippers now stood like solemn, shadowy mountains in the deluge… only, through this leaden landscape, Tasha could see one block of flashing green and red lights which beckoned her down a narrow pathway towards it. From the direction of the lights issued the strange electronic howl again. As she passed a row of large, empty stalls, the source of the light and sound came into view.

It was a ghost train.

'Very funny, Data,' she murmured.

'Last car for Tasha Yar,' called a voice. Tasha looked up and saw a tired looking old man in the ticket booth, rendered in double size as was the rest of Wonderland. He pointed at her. 'Last car.'

She walked up to the booth. 'I was told there was a message for me here.'

'More than just a message,' the booth operator told her. 'It's all inside. Last car, Miss Yar.'

Tasha shook her head. 'Data and his flair for the dramatic.' She nodded at her Captain. 'I blame you for that, Sir. You and your Shakespeare.'

Picard smiled wistfully. 'My apologies. Did you want me to go in with you?'

Tasha shook her head as she approached the single car waiting under the awning of the ghost train. 'I think this is for me to do alone.' She got in to the car, and the bar fell down over her lap. 'See you on the other side.'

'I'll be waiting,' called Picard over another electronic wail from the ghost train as her car shuddered into motion and began clanking its way into the dark tunnel.

For a moment, she was enveloped in total blackness. How fitting, she thought, that this ride that Data had made should mimic the bleakness and isolation that his death had left her with. Then, she was bathed in Ultraviolet light, and she saw him sitting next to her in the car, his white skin luminous under the UV.

He smiled, fondly. 'Hello, Tasha.'

Tasha started to cry.

'Tasha.' He put his hand on her shoulder. 'I am so very sorry. I do so dislike to see you upset.'

Tasha couldn't stop her tears, but she took his hand in hers, gratefully. So that was why she needed to come to the Holodeck. That was why she needed a special simulation. All of the other farewells had been recorded messages. This was an interactive programme.

'Data,' she breathed, 'Data, why did you do it?'

'When I set about recording tributes to my friends, I found that I could not adequately do so for you,' the holographic Data explained. 'Our relationship was too complex, and always in such a state of flux… I felt that the only way to give you the farewell that you deserved in the event of my death was to programme a simulation of myself that you could interact with, which I would regularly update…'

'I don't mean the hologram,' she replied. 'Why did you go and get yourself killed? You had so much ahead of you… we both did, together. And now you're gone. Why did you leave me?'

'I am sorry,' the hologram told her. 'I do not know. I last updated this programme the day after we acquired our cat. I was so happy living with you, and I was eagerly anticipating what was to come. I do not know what might have motivated me to allow myself to be destroyed, as you are suggesting happened.'

'You did it to save the Captains life,' Tasha replied.

'I see. And surely, you have just answered your own question.'

'I'd just proposed to you,' Tasha told him. 'You'd promised me that you'd do everything within your power to make sure we got married without a hitch. I loved you. I needed you. I treasured your life so much…'

'I treasure my existence too,' said Data, 'as well as our relationship together. I am certain that my decision to sacrifice those things must have been very difficult for me. You have my heartfelt apology for breaking my promise to

you.'

Tasha sobbed as their car clanked through the darkened ghost train. 'What am I going to do, Data? How am I supposed to get by without you?'

'You will persevere,' he replied. 'You are an independent, tenacious woman – those are traits that I have always admired in you – they are part of what I love about you. I know that you love me – I am so glad that you love me – but you do not _need_ me.'

'Yes, I do.'

'No, you do not. I have faith in you to live a full, accomplished life without me.'

'Accomplished, maybe,' Tasha conceded, 'but "full"? Without you?' She shook her head. 'I don't think I'll ever be able to fill the hole that you've left in my life.'

Holographic though he was, Data sniffed a little. 'Then, I have left you damaged. Do you wish that you had never loved me?'

'No! No, not at all.' She kissed his hand. It felt heartbreakingly real. 'This hurts – this hurts so badly. But falling in love with you, and having you love me in return was one of the best things I ever did. I'd never wish that away. Never.'

'Loving you, and being loved by you in return _was_ the best thing that I ever did – the single finest accomplishment in my existence,' Data told her. 'You have always challenged and stretched my interpersonal capabilities, and the rewards for meeting those challenges have been beyond measure.'

Tasha found herself smiling through her tears. 'Same here.'

She could see the red and green lights of the ride's exterior shining through cracks in a door ahead of them.

'Is this the end, Data?'

'We can go around again, if there is more that you wish to say.'

'I could sit here and talk with you for the rest of my life,' she replied.

'I would advise against that. This is only a hologram.'

The doors swung open and they trundled out into the rainy fairground again. Jean-Luc Picard was still standing outside, waiting as he had promised.

'I'm all too aware of that, Data,' Tasha told him. 'I think, then, this is where we get off.'

The ride shuddered to a halt, and Tasha allowed the holographic Data to help her out of the car.

She nodded to the Captain. 'I'm ready.'

'I'll tell Lieutenant Barclay to commence with the deletion.' An arch appeared over Picard's head, and he quickly disappeared through it.

'Are you going to leave, now?' Data asked her.

'No. It's this world that's leaving. I'm sorry about destroying Wonderland, Data, but it just isn't right without you.'

'Then, I shall stay until it is gone,' the hologram of Data replied. 'Although, I am afraid that, since this projection is a part of the Wonderland simulation, once that is purged, this hologram will be, too.'

Tasha nodded.

They stood quietly for a moment, in the soft rain.

'Care to dance?' Tasha asked.

'I thought that you did not dance.'

'Slow dancing. It's different. You just hold each other and sort-of sway.'

'There is no music.'

'Nothing for me to be out of time with, then.'

They held one another close and slowly swayed, the way that they had done at the Rikers' wedding. She buried her head into the hologram's shoulder. She noticed after a moment that it had stopped raining, and as she looked up, the limpid summer twilight returned to the sky, and the rides and stalls of Wonderland sprang back into gaudy, noisy life.

'What's happening?'

'The memorial programme is coming to an end,' the hologram explained. 'Goodbye, Tasha. I love you.'

And indeed, no sooner had the lights returned to Wonderland, they started going out again – but it wasn't just the lights, this time – it was the whole simulation. Chunk by chunk, the world was switching off… only in the distance, so far, but Tasha knew that it would soon be coming closer.

'No,' she murmured, then pleaded louder, 'no. No, I've changed my mind. I don't want to lose it. I don't…'

She trailed off. The whole of Wonderland now consisted of just a few hundred square metres, then about 50, then 10… the attractions right next to her blinked out of existence, leaving just her in the Holodeck chamber, clinging on to the hologram of the one person she'd loved…

And then he was gone, too, and all that remained was Tasha Yar, slowly swaying with her arms wrapped around herself, with no music, no partner – no Data.

-x-

EPILOGUE

-x-

She went back to the quarters they'd shared together. For a while she just stood with her back pressed against the wall and her head in her hands, feeling the emptiness of the place without him there – listening to the silence left by the absence of his voice.

She felt a soft, sleek something wind its way around her ankles. She took her hands from her eyes and looked down. Her cat nuzzled at her shoes with a soft 'Maowww'.

In spite of everything, she faintly smiled. 'Just you and me now, kiddo. A single parent family.'

The cat stopped her winding and sat looking up at her with a quizzical 'Brrrrow?'

Tasha stared back as the cat they had chosen – almost entirely black, save for white patches on her front socks and face – seemed to tilt her head slightly at her, as though in contemplation.

Tasha shook her head. 'Even the damn cat reminds me of you,' she told the otherwise empty room.

She replicated a bowl of feed for the cat and set it down with a soft 'There y'go, Fido.'

As the cat merrily ate, she turned her attention to Data's ornaments on the shelves. She set a sculpture flush with the line of the shelf here, picked a speck of dust up from his violin there. She turned and gazed absently at her dresser… then froze.

There was something there – there, on top of the dresser – something that definitely hadn't been there before. It was a smallish white rectangular prism – a box, it seemed, on closer inspection, and one that glimmered faintly, like Mother Of Pearl. She brushed a fingertip over it – it was cold and smooth, like marble.

She turned to the cat with a frown. 'Someone leave this in here during the memorial service, Fides?'

The cat didn't answer – didn't so much as look up from her dinner. Tasha always locked the door to her quarters when she was out, to keep Fido from escaping. How could anybody have possibly just snuck in?

She turned her attention back to the box. There was a clasp at the front. She undid it and lifted the lid, standing warily back as she did so, almost expecting a large flag with "BANG!" written on it to leap out at her. No such thing happened. Instead, a tiny figurine on a mechanised spring wobbled upright close to the hinge and began to spin to a tinny, clockwork tune.

She frowned. 'What…?'

There was something recognisable about the tune, she thought, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. The white music box was almost entirely empty. All that it contained was a single card – like one of the old fashioned business cards she'd seen Picard use as Dixon Hill – resting neatly in the plush black lining. She picked it up and read the single word embossed upon it. Then, she turned it over. There were two more words written on the other side.

'What?' she repeated.

She set the card back down in the music box. Still the little dancing figure turned and turned on the spring. She peered at it. The figurine was of a tiny fairy, all in blue. But there was something very strange about it – very out of place.

'I see,' she told the empty room. 'I see. OK then, I'll wait.'

She shut the box. She could sleep, now. She could face the emptiness knowing that there was something else going on – even if she didn't yet understand what that "something" was.

The blue fairy in the music box had been wearing a Sombrero.

_Now you`ll dream of a new Carioca,  
Its theme is a kiss and a sigh.  
You`ll dream of a new Carioca,  
When music and lights are gone and we`re saying goodbye.  
Goodbye…_

_-x-  
_

TO BE CONCLUDED IN "ORPHEUS"

-x-

_A/N – So, this is The End. Only, it isn't. Early on while plotting this story I decided that I wanted it to end with the Canon – with Tasha dancing all by herself on the Holodeck, but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted a proper, all-guns-blazing resolution. So I'm going to try to have my cake and eat it here. This is where Rollercoaster comes to an end, with the end of the Canon and the end of Wonderland, and readers who are happy with a wistful and bittersweet farewell can leave it at that. However, there will be a sequel to this story arc – Orpheus – which I felt, due to its length and its continuation away from the Canon timeline needs to be posted separately. It won't be as lengthy as Rollercoaster turned out to be, but it will be much longer than any of the component short stories that have made the story arc up!_

_If I went through all the Author's notes that I could think of and point out all the cultural references and inspirations throughout the story, we'd all be here forever. I do have a handful of notes on some of the OCs, though…_

_Nurse Rocco DiMaggio – Human, from Venice, Italy, Earth. Named in part after the much-derided boyfriend of an old acquaintance, and partially after John DiMaggio, the actor who voices Bender, along with many other characters on Futurama. Naming OCs after actors famous for playing robots became my biggest injoke while writing this. We never actually "see" him, he just gets referred to a lot. He's supposed to be big, burly, good looking but thoroughly dull._

_Aldous & Algernon Bloom – Holograms. Family name is after Leopold Bloom from James Joyce's Ulysses (I often stare at my bookcase for name inspiration). Algernon was plucked from mid-air, Aldous is after Aldous Huxley. They're two pretty stereotypical Noir villains – Algy's a Spiv with good connections, Aldous is just Sidney Greenstreet in a different hat._

_Dollis Hill – Literary character. Heavily based on Nancy Drew. Dollis Hill is a joke name I enjoy using in general – for those unfamiliar with London, it's a small area of North London. I originally got the name from a Tube map. The fact that Dollis Hill is situated within Brent Cross made me even happier, since Dollis really does make Data cross._

_Lieutenant Lester Llewellyn – Human, from Merthyr Tydfil, Wales, Earth. I'm Welsh, and despite loving that Star Trek has had an Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman as major characters, wish that there'd have been a Welsh one, too. I picked Merthyr because I've got family near there and they always describe it as a bit of a dive (sorry, Merthyr-dwellers!) and I wanted Lester to be a boy from the sticks. He's named after Robert Llewellyn, the actor who played Kryten in Red Dwarf. "Lester" is just because I liked the alliteration. He's Gay because I felt the Enterprise needed a Gay officer. At first it was just a random name given to a door guard in an early chapter, but I ended up using him every time I needed a Security underling, and got very fond of him. It was a tough decision to kill him in the Borg attack. We actually ended up with a very light casualty list of named characters after the second Borg attack – I'd known Jenna and Lester were going to go out the way that they did for ages, but originally I was going to cull lots of other canon secondary characters – we were going to lose Commander Shelby, Kyle Riker and Leah Brahms as well, at the very least. In the end, it just wasn't necessary to the story to lose all those people and deal with the additional grief their deaths would cause._

_Nikolai Yar – Human, from Turkana City. Initially, Nikolai was going to have been one of IVF triplets; the biological children of Tasha and Geordi's sperm-in-a-cup. Not only that, but I originally had it that it was Nik who died and his sisters Nadia and Anoushka who survived. As it turned out, Tasha and Data going to all that trouble just so Tasha could be a biological mother ended up not making much sense to me, especially since they were both abandoned. I felt it would make much more sense that they'd seek to adopt Turkanan refugee orphans. Anoushka was taken out of the picture because she was unnecessary, and Nadia and Nik had their fortunes switched. However, since my initial idea about Geordi being the biological dad, Nik has always been mixed race to me. It didn't feel important in the narrative to bring it up, but that's the image I have of him. And yes, as he's lived in Cambridge since he was a toddler, he has a South-East English accent._

_Morton Baker – I never really decided what species/mix of species Morton is, but it doesn't really matter. He's named after Kenny Baker – the actor who played R2D2, though. I wanted someone who was just an average guy for a bit – not a fancy Officer. I had no idea he was going to end up so Chippy!_

_Marven – Ba'ku. Named after Marvin the Paranoid Android, and about as close to the antithesis of his namesake as he could get! I wanted someone to spark jealousy in Data but easily, happily step aside once our tormented couple admitted they loved one another – Marven's character grew around that. I love how free and easy he is – he was a joy to write. Marven, for those interested, is just under 450 years old._

_Lieutenant Priti Manek – Half Human, half Vulcan, from rural Sri Lanka, Earth. Only name-checked in Rollercoaster, but she's going to be more important in Orpheus. Yes. Another joke name. So sue me._

_Thanks to all of you for reading, to those who've reviewed, or dropped me a message – much love to the people who I've discovered have reccd the story and massive hearts and flowers to my fabulous Beta Realmlife._

_Scribbles_

_xxx_


End file.
